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what, the bitch says, well you work there, don’t you know anything about dogs that stopped up the wind pipe and ma’am I’m not a trainer nor do I profess to be one click I hung up on her. fire me, someone, please, set me adrift maybe that’s what I need, fuck cut away the safety nets the ropes that tie me to drudgery and duty push me along the razor’s edge can I be poz without insurance oh fuck probably not patience young cricket eater

thank you but I know already all that I don’t know, I don’t need any more reminders

namaste mutherfucker

can’t quite hear myself think

pick up the 30 do 21

pick up the 35 do 21

pick up the 40 do 21

pick up the 45 do fucking c’mon 19 arrrgggh get the fuck outta my way

doin’ it for my space monkey

can’t quite hear myself speak

dig a little trench boy, get it flowin again

each word a scratch in the sand

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