Ask The Overture Playing Live at dot blast Dot Com!!,
of for the that little stint on the Mile of the anchor Drag,
a taste of bitter Sweets the Fact Ore on a Shagged.
Dues is singing Tomorrow today on the Faxing of Turn tables dialed,
to the Futures of the Thunder & the Stiles,
a Paddock on The Barn,
a Past Stirred with The Fun & The Racks!!
As Per the Bush Admin. I stump the Amplified Par Done at Gin,
ice Cubes and VOD Ka a sterling Simplicity of Basket fold Base Vee Ole uh,
bask in the barrel of Human Context for the Meet Farmers have Gross Profits,
shrink Wrapped burst Read Owes on the Cheese in bee T.
Sang to the Old God and Venued A Knew sat on that Bridle bit Peace to the Few,
ankle bending Ball bearing that Cusp of the Cosmic,
stars are the Grid work and Stadiums are Diest.
Park at the Stile that is the stage Fleet,
shipping is Were Shipped to the count of a Spook,
in the Day of Language in the Day of the Stood,
the CIA was Coptic and that is a Truth!!
In Verse Aft turned Course The Ghost on the Sheets,
bringing to Am PLA Fide the Dark in Knee`ng stink,
that Aisle of Pea Ewe to that Stalk of the beans,
string it Too gather And rise has a Toe.
Is it a Vending Machine is a Pop Coe`k,
is it a Stable is it a Stoop,
is it a Hoarse or Mist tree Of goo`s,
boxed for the burr Ritz as the Munch get`st a Booth!!
A knack Craw Nimh or breadth of Rim Mine`d Over Matter,
Speak with a Loud Horn And fog Will Knot shatter`d,
rather in that big Call on the Heir Waving See,
Sun is the Say to the Aye love the Crew`d!!
As Per the Bush Admin. I stump the Amplified Par Done at Gin,
ice Cubes and VOD Ka a sterling Simplicity of Basket fold Base Vee Ole uh,
bask in the barrel of Human Context for the Meet Farmers have Gross Profits,
shrink Wrapped burst Read Owes on the Cheese in bee T.
Sang to the Old God and Venued A Knew sat on that Bridle bit Peace to the Few,
ankle bending Ball bearing that Cusp of the Cosmic,
stars are the Grid work and Stadiums are Diest.
Park at the Stile that is the stage Fleet,
shipping is Were Shipped to the count of a Spook,
in the Day of Language in the Day of the Stood,
the CIA was Coptic and that is a Truth!!
In Verse Aft turned Course The Ghost on the Sheets,
bringing to Am PLA Fide the Dark in Knee`ng stink,
that Aisle of Pea Ewe to that Stalk of the beans,
string it Too gather And rise has a Toe.
Is it a Vending Machine is a Pop Coe`k,
is it a Stable is it a Stoop,
is it a Hoarse or Mist tree Of goo`s,
boxed for the burr Ritz as the Munch get`st a Booth!!
A knack Craw Nimh or breadth of Rim Mine`d Over Matter,
Speak with a Loud Horn And fog Will Knot shatter`d,
rather in that big Call on the Heir Waving See,
Sun is the Say to the Aye love the Crew`d!!