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Rotgut (Tomahawk)

In the scrotum of your dreams You turn your first trick for free Cocktails, catnip and cocaine I doubt you'll be in the hot rain Make a thick squeal When you cop a feel It rots your gut but that's not enough for you Induce the red morning sun I spit on the cock of passion My heart beating in your head An angel there in the front bed Sweet honeycomb and lockjaw Sting like a bee and say aah Two cats that hung each of our lies Build it cause soon we're more chaste