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The tic begins, where's the manned end? |
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The climate change will never get in |
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Silent and strong, prepossessed |
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You never need to make your own mess |
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Weasel to me, charming to some |
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Loathsome and glib, habits like self love |
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Wearing slim fast, you carve your niche |
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Lean smug back and work your pitch |
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And all the way |
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I'm goneNo demon race to find |
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You paint it up and know |
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That any face could lie |
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And all the way |
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I'm goneNo demon race to find |
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You paint it up and know |
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That any face could lie |
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Affect my greatest style |
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What suits me best of all |
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I keep my pocket filled |
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Lean right and fall |
