| You cup your palms like shovels always begging for more
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| I’m tired of working my ass of for you
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| You spread your thighs and whisper sounding just like a whore
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| Don’t keep coming for more
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| You may have tasted my body
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| But you won’t taste my soul
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| You may have felt your flesh stretching
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| To the depths of your every hole
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| You felt liquid and solid
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| You felt pleasure and fear
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| You may have felt your flesh stretching
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| To the depths of your every hole
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| And if you’re all that you claim to be
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| Then I’m not losing anything
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| So just stand there upon your knees
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| And feel the joy of suffering |