| After I say I’ll **** you in the bathroom
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| Of the pizza by slice place
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| It’s not fair for me to ask
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| What kinda wife you might make
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| Forbidding you to smoke
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| Like the fascist butt of a joke
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| That is poor practice for opening
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| The heart to a possible start
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| Right?
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| Horn-rimmed Napoleon only in for the week
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| On high over the breach, in a speech
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| He’s been preaching since he’s been alive
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| Jeez, nasty little man
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| So fast to show his hand
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| To any last bastard who’s ass is in pants
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| The man’s manners, mild, like winters in the South
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| Rather odd, he might inquire if he can finish in your mouth
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| Sex-starved, wrecked, scarred, flesh marred, but best part
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| Never bent bars hold men far from fresh start (No)
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| At dawn, with Hilton pen, he feels he’ll fall hard
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| Yes, in bed the bard tends to pretend he’s all heart |