| You’re gonna begin
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| The way you will end
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| Among your brothers
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| You’ll grow low cunning
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| Stretch scrabbling limbs longer
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| Twitch your greedy whiskers
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| Make a friend of your hunger
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| You’ll learn to aspire, eye the climb up the ladder
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| Master the tunnels, subsisting on refuse
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| Keep tabs on your rivals, picking off the weakest
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| Take the old pleasures from flesh that runs slower
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| Gonna swim deep in the sewers
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| ‘Cuz you’re built for oiled waters
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| Sometimes your coarse mind will wonder
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| Why the spoils ain’t sweeter
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| Why you can’t quell your yearning
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| What’s hollow in your nature
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| Later you’re larded, a royal weight-thrower
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| Nestled in your cortege of suck-ups and betas
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| Tails tangled up; |
| common filth brings you closer
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| Gonna go greyer, wonder why you’re so tired
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| Bound to your bootlickers while the flooding creeps higher
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| No longer seaworthy, the knotted clan’s squirming
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| The rain is coming down, the gutters are bleeding
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| No crown will spare your kind from what you’ve got coming
|
| The final instinct will be recursive gnawing
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| Among your brothers |