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Straight shots of the sterno plus, wick stuck in the bottle empty
Three blocks to the target we lit it and lob it hard at Sentry
Four pigs of the oinking variety guard the market entry
Five minutes of flames and then aim the whistle my father lent me
Six o'clock we meet up and divvy the shells among the youngins
Seven continents in the shit and smoke like it's fuckin London
Just before they ate up the funds our harmony love was bumping
Now government issue nines and point em where your blood is pumping
Tend to mop up these muttering zombies talker pieces
El'll vent on you harder than Fukushima breezes
In the end when a dozen or so ajourn to reason
You'll find the verdict return corrupted in murderous seasons
With inverted 31's and other unlucky omens
Thats why I chug 7 and 7's til I'm fucking homeless
And every time you think my fifteen minutes of fame are up
I'll spit another sixteen to prove to the world I fucking own it

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