.[Verse 1]
Mash the buttons, knock knock, never yield
Phobias in motion blowing smoke into the sterile field
Wonkavatorâ
upâ
beyond the seraphim,â
terra beneath the keratin
Every bit precariouslyâ
jerry-rigged
His helmet is a case of Bud, he factor in the paper cuts
Corrugated c.
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