| Chef: We got a snazzy, new room
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| With two whole benches
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| It’s practically rodent-free
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| We got expensive perfume
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| For all our stenches
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| As swellegant as can be
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| And with these pointy, new shoes
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| To walk through mud in
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| Fancy silk squares to cough up blood in
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| Baby, let’s face it
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| This is as good as it gets
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| Gwynne: I suppose it is rather nice.
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| We got the classier type of bedbug species
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| Between our new burlap sheets
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| Chef: We got a custom-made pipe
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| That dumps our feces
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| On one of the nicer streets
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| Gwynne: And when there’s something amiss
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| Inside our breeches
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| Chef: Our barber applies his fattest leeches
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| Gwynne: Why not embrace it?
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| Chef + Gwynne: This is as good as it gets
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| Chef: We’re part of the upper lower class now
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| Gwynne: Sickly, yet oh-so chic
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| Chef: Our glass is half-full
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| Gwynne: We own a glass now
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| Chef: We bathe once a week
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| Gwynne: Well, «bathe,» so to speak
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| Chef + Gwynne: And as our station in life keeps growing stronger
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| We’re growing in more ways, too
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| Gwynne: I think my tapeworm is, like, a whole foot longer
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| Chef: By now I might have a few
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| Chef + Gwynne: And though our breath and our teeth may still be rotten
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| Together, just look how far we’ve gotten
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| Chef: Baby, we made it
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| Gwynne: Totally slayed it
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| Chef + Gwynne: Why would we trade it?
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| This is…
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| As good as it ge-e-e-e-e-e-ts |