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THOUGHT INDUSTRY lyrics : "Horsepowered"

Halcyon prick absinthe loaded. Popes moselle in
Christ, slurping dead Jim's fat $$# wife with shamrocks
and driftwood. I'm an articulate man, but the chanty

says to $#&@. Scrape.

Sterilized aqua !@(!. Chumly the Walrus.

Adventures bloop gumption's "if"? Catholics crust lust
my stomach, Jim's dumb tame moray. How many
times, Timmy? How many times, Jenny? Let's rinse

and rinse. Scrape.

Cheap man's lumbering hulk city bus will swoop me

off at nine. 'tards with lunch pails. Bums hacking snot.
Some fruit sniffing shampoo. A drunk bus driver. Kill
that bus driver. Kill the $#&@ing bus driver. Scrape.

"Hey, here's part of my new book. A clever political
anthology. It's for the pretentious and cute. So I named

it 'America, will you please stick it in and ride?' Fly
dove. We fly."

Vacillate stance silver Zippo and cotton. My
varicolored weapons and wasps. I'm ok. I'm fine. Feel
swell. It's neat. Don't bump me. Bang bang delicious.

Go bang bang delicious in the bathroom at Crossroads
mall. Scrape.

I'm a $#&@ing pop star. Non-threatening music.
Chipped meat hunk seen on Fox. Scrape. I'm a $#&@ing
pop star. Budweiser sponsored. I've made it. Put it

there, chum. Scrape.

"I bought a song. Some sort of Neil Sedaka sample.

Hey, pay attention to me. It's so damn important. Well,
$#&@ ya'. So stick it in and ride." Fly Bush. We fly and
ride. Free Quayle we fly.

Angie's lonely and stinking drunk, with morals like
frozen piss. She'll stick it in and ride. Fly Rush, we'll

fly and ride. Free horse we ride.

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