| We scratch on the plains,
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| Up town they fluff the feathers,
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| Coachmen walk with canes,
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| And every collar is creased.
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| A Gentleman prefers to break from airs and fetters,
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| To roll off his sleeves,
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| And liberate the Beast.
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| Let us piss from the vine,
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| Let us claw in the mud,
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| Let us swing with both fists
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| As we writhe in the blood,
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| Let us walk on stained glass,
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| Sinners one,
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| Sinners all,
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| It’s always prettiest after the Fall.
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| We gnaw on the bone,
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| Up town they sprinkle sweetener
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| Nectar for the cups,
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| And napkins for the chins,
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| A Gentleman prefers to dig in with his fingers,
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| Suck in through his teeth,
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| And bare a hungry grin,
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| Let us piss from the vine,
|
| Let us claw in the mud,
|
| Let us swing with both fists
|
| As we writhe in the blood,
|
| Let us walk on stained glass,
|
| Sinners one,
|
| Sinners all,
|
| It’s always prettiest after the Fall.
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| We board up the shed,
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| Up town they gild Cathedrals,
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| Choir boys for Hymns,
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| And candles for the Mass,
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| A Gentleman prefers to differ with his Steeple
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| Salt his scripture well,
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| And show a little class.
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| Let us piss from the vine
|
| Let us claw in the mud,
|
| Let us swing with both fists
|
| As we writhe in the blood,
|
| Let us walk on stained glass,
|
| Sinners one,
|
| Sinners ALL,
|
| Let us piss from the vine
|
| Let us claw in the mud,
|
| Let us swing with both fists
|
| As we writhe in the blood,
|
| Let us walk on stained glass,
|
| Sinners one,
|
| Sinners all,
|
| It’s always prettiest after the Fall. |