Seven upstairs brothels,
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With placards on the mantels,
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And ten fish flavoured samples,
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With candles in the back.
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He was a well dressed suitor,
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He had bad breath and cander,
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I think they would have liked him,
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But he got killed by his manager.
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Fuzzy and cuddly he's fozzo the rabbit
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He drinks from the nozzle and stinks like a ferret
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They bought him a temple with children to play with
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Now he sells his skunk blood and talks like a plaintiff
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Hello to my red uncles you are my favourite comies,
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I'll meet you at sao anthony's and then go to pilates,
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Warship, the swordsmen, the multitasking mormons,
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That breath up in the shit house when you wrap them in contortions.
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God is imodest
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Had twenty seven hottest
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With forty nine heads in your beds
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And yet I'm still your fondest
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Take me through the mandibles of pcp and vanderbils,
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where PG rated cannibals will share their thoughts on animals
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and peanut butter sandwiches will flood the hole that banishes
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with sights on things that vanishes but that sounds like a pony.
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That Sounds Like A Pony
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Adam Green |