Lounging back in their golden chairs
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Plastic smiles surrounded by their plastic hair
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Tiny microphone in his swollen hand
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Screeching out their praises up to Bula Land
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He can't wait to die
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A crowd of zombies listen as they wail and cheer
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He's likely to expire in another year
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Rejoice hallelujah, I want to die
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I wanna see what happens in the blink of an eye
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Overweight southern drawl, dissonant voice
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Glazed over cloudy gaze lacks a choice
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Their eyes roll back as they raise their hands
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I think I see it coming, it's Bula Land!
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Lard Jesus
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| The American Culture eXperiments |