| Will I get in to chase, to match my dreams?
|
| Summer thaws a quartered pill
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| Will I get in to chase, to match my dreams?
|
| My eyes hatch a still born penny
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| Dead clover, dead clover, one mongoose, one cobra
|
| Goes back before skinny boys stuffed their shirts
|
| Dead clover, dead clover, one mongoose, one cobra
|
| Will I get in to chase, to match my dreams?
|
| The rat that’s caught in the ribs of me will be released within the year:
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| In crossing states on the spade possum with custom plates and the paint rusting
|
| Like cussing saints with strange customs here
|
| Dead clover, dead clover, one mongoose one cobra
|
| Goes back before skinny boys stuffed their shirts
|
| Dead clover, dead clover, one mongoose, one cobra
|
| Will I get in to chase, to match my dreams?
|
| Nervous on night drives, fog or no fog
|
| — It'll happen when he changes lanes
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| Nervous on night drives, fog or no fog
|
| — It'll happen when he changes lanes |