| The sport of killing
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| Hanging by hook and 1,000lb test
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| Predator vs. predator
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| To turn these waters red
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| The sharks go berserk
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| They circle the boat
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| We hide with machetes and knives
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| Ambush and cut their throats
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| Chopped up. |
| Chunks. |
| Cuts
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| Frozen in buckets of blood
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| With my trusty machete
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| I carve the parts to summon the sharks
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| Lurking around the jetty
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| In a frenzy they’re circling, their incisors ready
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| To masticate and to munch
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| These things you call humans but we call it lunch
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| They smell it from miles away
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| I stand at the dock now a butchering block
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| Smashing. |
| Hacking. |
| Laughing
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| We carry a payload
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| Chopped torsos, heads and limbs
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| Ground into a mulch
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| Frozen and chummified
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| Intestines
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| Fresh organs
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| Left on the dock, reeking, cokked by the sun
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| So pungent
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| Disturbing
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| Vomiting induced an mixed with the chyme
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| This is blood
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| Not ashes
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| No mourning
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| No love
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| Sharks go berserk when the blood starts to spurt from
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| The stern to the bow human chum is thrown out
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| They never thought this would be the way they’d
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| Eventually die
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| Shredded into bite-sized pieces — a human goresicle
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| Knee-deep in intestines, gray soupy mixture resembling chyme
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| Sloshing heaps mobilized by waves distributing the piles
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| Granulized
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| Homocide
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| Chummified |