| Don’t you know what you could do for me with one thin rope?
|
| Don’t you know what you could do for me with one more stroke?
|
| Don’t you know what your heaving breath for this burnt swelling flesh?
|
| Don’t you know how I feel with your fingers around my neck?
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| Pass me the rope the burn is intense
|
| I’m starting to choke the yearning relents
|
| Like a pig on a poke
|
| I’ve hurt and I’ve hoped
|
| Well I lie for the life of me
|
| The bile’s at the back of my throat
|
| There’s a bloated germ in my belly
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| That yearns for one small slit
|
| Therein this writhing sperm
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| This blow off in the grit
|
| Pass me the rope the burn is intense
|
| I’m starting to choke the yearning relents
|
| Like a pig on a poke
|
| I’ve hurt and I’ve hoped
|
| Well I lie for the life of me
|
| The bile’s at the back of my throat
|
| I don’t need no one to tell me nothing
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| I can take myself in my own good time
|
| I met my maker when I met my mother
|
| Not the seven bribes of christ
|
| Don’t trespass on my patience baby
|
| Your eyes are bigger than your belly
|
| Like the letter of the law
|
| Like the ulcerating sore
|
| I’m sucking on the stick that stinks
|
| Pass me the rope the burn is intense
|
| I’m starting to choke the yearning relents
|
| Like a pig on a poke
|
| I’ve hurt and I’ve hoped
|
| Well I lie for the life of me
|
| The bile’s at the back of my throat |