Brandishing the side-eyes, luck's a trifle,
Momma taught me better, except
nothin' better than itchy fingers on a rifle.
On your knees, never tasted like Oedipus,
use your stagename, run and try with us.
You sick fuck; You suck fick
thick and torn, a tongue named razor
eyes full of scorn, coerced so aptly
innocence mourned.
Baby I could eat your lips, the way you hurt
O', how I'd bury yo...

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