| Atomic man, embossed on hues of
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| Money greens that swell and ooze, will
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| Scratch his chin as if to muse that
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| All this winning meant to lose
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| Though he slaved and hate his dues
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| Here he was, no time to choose
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| A way to change and try to fuse him-
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| self into the way the queues around him
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| «Attack you fools!"the captain bawls
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| «I have your heads upon my walls!»
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| Rows of heroes crouch to crawls, bomb
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| Bamboo huts and village halls, smash
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| Ping-pong bats with cannon balls, as
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| Ali-Baba's sheiks and sauls
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| Debag Goliath as he falls
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| While the Statue Of Liberty climbs and mauls everything
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| «Champagne for the heroe whore
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| And watch your step in all that gore
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| But not too much, he’ll scream for more»
|
| El pres. |
| advices from the door
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| «For though he’s filled from skin to core
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| It’s not enough he’ll whine for sure, so
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| Say it’s we who keep the score, and
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| nail him back upon the floor, yeh»
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| So there he works, still at large
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| Behind his smiles and his camouflage
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| Of nice white coats and college grades that
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| Hide blue suits with golden braids
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| And though I hope the smell just fades
|
| It does not go but leads to raids on
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| Bamboo huts in country glades
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| Where the people use the grass for blades, ain’t that something |