to get out of the bahamas and left a goat for hire wooly
boogers on our damp pajamas you are my arm, said me, chanting
delicately and yet the sun shineth down for all eternity I wish I was back
in the deep dark wilds of the sack with some semblance around four
I inhaled the Vapors of the bahamas and left a goat for hire
wooly boogers on our
Grey souls, Grey shoes I've even got grey blues.