| This is a song for Phil Daoust
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| Occasional Guardian newspaper journal-oust
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| I never ever ever mentioned your name
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| Or the review that you wrote when I was new to this game
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| But now the time has come
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| I think I’ve dealt with my feelings at last
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| I really wanna forgive you, Phil
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| Yeah, I wanna put the past in the past-a-a
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| And as this is London Town
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| I thought I ought to take the opportunity
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| Cause there’s a pretty good chance somebody out there will know you
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| Maybe they will pass on a message for me
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| Just wanna say, Phil Daoust
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| Occasional Guardian newspaper journal-oust
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| That it’s been three years since you wrote it
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| And time is very healing
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| But I still wanna cut big chunks of flesh out of your stupid face
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| And make your children watch while I force you to eat them
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| Yeah I wanna make your children watch you eat your own face-meat
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| Ding dang ding dang dong
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| This is my Phil Doust song
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| Everybody sing along
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| La la la, la la la la
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| I hope one of your family members dies
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| Phil, ding dang dong
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| I’ve written you this special song
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| To help you get the attention
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| You obviously, desperately lack
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| And I know that you’re a smart man
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| And with such a fine mind, I guess it has to be hard
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| To resist throwing narcissistic, intellectual tantrums
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| In the supermarket aisles of your self-regard
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| Just wanna say, Phil Daoust
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| I know it must be really hard to be a journal-oust
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| While a deadline’s always looming
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| And the pressure to be entertaining
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| So maybe you should quit and get a job that you’d be better at
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| Like killing yourself, you fucking cunt
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| Ding dang ding dang dong
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| This is my Phil Doust song
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| Everybody sing along
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| Tra la la, la la la la
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| I hope something you love catches on fire
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| Phil, ding dang dong
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| I’ve written you this special song
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| To show how far I’ve come along
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| In my efforts to be more mature in the face of negative feedback
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| You fucking poo-face |