Trazill

I had to say no when the guy finally came to me and asked me to buy rights to the video surveillance tape of the third showing of "Lost Chicken Feed? Balogna!". It had been years upon decades (3.5) that had swept by since I danced the Herkey Jerkey over the first salesman to bite the dust. I ate him in a shack meant to be a lean-by-four. The misses saw me digging the right trench and scolded my misbehavior at soiling up her good working men's goggles with such desert clay as you've never seen since. They plastered me up all over the county for that one. Never let me down. Then one day a salesman became me and earned enough for two bread dives over to Folkoober County. There they had a way of showing shows that cast the image in perfect clarity upon your mind. The smells were either vibrant or disgusting, depending on the mood of the conductor. We licked about forty five minutes of the whole thing before we decided to up and create our own doo-hickey film for doing right by the elves. It began one day in the backyard patch of washrooms. Belonging to the citizens as we did, my first mate Weedenderder found me leaving the ship to save the Rembortsholipsiantoes, a sailing hybrid of tuna catfish and sand, all silicone-cased diamonds of bareback stretches eloping into your heart with boredom coiled up in tingles. This particular animal could talk to brine and beams of gamma radiation at once. Words were back in the glossolalian stage for Queen Blighten and the Sand Exiles, playing at the Rings Tubular the night we made out the mystery behind why everyone's the same. Turns out the whole dispatchio was in a song made for the evening by the evening itself (aka, everyone, though Blight the Might in Slight Fighting Stance she played the barcode lead):

Now you say you are not the one who thinks
you are the person you could be
in some other form of being
without nothing to believe in?

Well, I say that you are right
in that you might just do it right
by giving up the fight
to be something else entirely!

(Chorus)
It's not all over, just get quite over it
and move a ways out of the way now.
We get sick of saying "day."
Slip on upwards to the happy ice cream wiggins
'cause I can only stand somewhat of the way
you wag your eyebrows at me.
 Jeans and genes! 
Genes and jeans!
How can we mean diddly squat
when this lump is just a bump
or vibration in a medium?

Lead
Repeat Verse
Repeat Chorus
Repeat Again

ک
ظ
ك