| Dullard skipping down the street
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| Whistling to a tuneless beat
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| Tripping over his own feet
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| He falls into a hole
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| A stinking sewage hole
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| To his mind, his simple mind
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| His god lives here, lives right inside
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| He smells the piss, the sulfur pit
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| His yawning god is breathing shit
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| Just a mundane sewage tank
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| Cracked open and very rank
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| Cretin thinks his god’s awake
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| Thinks he’s found his home
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| His very smelly home
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| Make us laugh, you silly man
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| As you worship this wretched land
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| And shave your head like monks of old
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| Then sacrifice things to your hole
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| Brings it little animals
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| Until the pit is almost full
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| Feels the gassy brimstone pull
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| Then he crawls inside
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| So horrible inside
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| Then repairmen come to fix
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| They fill it with shovels and picks
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| And just as cretin sees his god
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| Heaven goes mysteriously dark |