One hen, two ducks, three squawking geese, four limerick oysters, five corpulent porpoises, six pairs of Don Alvarsio's tweezers, SIX THOUSAND MACIDONIANS IN FULL BATTLE ARRAY, eight brass monkeys from the ancient, sacred crypts of Egypt, nine apathetic, sympathetic old men on roller skates with a marked propensity towards procrastination and sloth, ten lyrical, spherical, diabolical
I been makin' like two thousand a minute So high up through the clouds, I was swimmin' I'm probably gon' drown when I'm in it I bet she gon' get loud when I'm in it And we might have a child when I'm finished Uh, I won't love a ho, after we fuck, she can't get near me Only bitch I give a conversation to is Siri My pants Amiri, yes, I'm winnin
Two thousand one hundred and thirty-six metres in all. One circuit of the cellar at ground level, one on the first gallery, half on the second, and on the two hundred and sixty-seventh morning
In two thousand eighteen In your head, in your head, they're still fighting With their tanks, and their bombs And their guns, and their drones In your head, in your head, they are dying What's in your head, in your head? Zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie What's in your head, in your head? Zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie-ie, oh It's the same old theme
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two thousand and two lyrics