and all that is rotten. I'm quite a connoisseur A foetid tapioca is prepared in your colon. Nauseating pudding, thickened with pus. A genital souffl is concocted on the fly. Post-mortem nutrimentof
Intro. (Uh-oh, uh-oh-oh-oh). Verse 1. We hereby conduct. This post-mortem. He was a hot house flower to my outdoorsmen. Our maladies were such. We could not cure them. And so a touch that was my
intend to indulge in any post-mortem. If you haven't been murdered, I can only say. Better luck next time. If you have been, goodnight wherever you are
soul's escaping, through this hole that is gaping. This world is mine for the taking. Make me king, as we move toward a, new world order. A normal life is borin, but super stardom's close to postmortem