Goodbye Horace

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I hate the taste of dead bodies in the morning.
They always make me feel like a paradoxic monkey man.
Loose Caboose, the attack without warning,
Someone ought to tell them there’s more to life than being dead.

You can always tell the ones that give a guy the vapors.
Crunchy fungus fingernails just don’t satisfy.
My sleepyhead coma needs a downshift kickstart.
Tubes of Schivo going into my eyes

Giving some thought to the pots and pans
Put a little lightning in your pants
Giving all the spare ribs a second glance
Make a peace sign do the safety dance

Like a big black yodel bouncin’ on a TV
Saying: “I am all you need – Eat Me!”
If you think that’s strange just wait and see
As I get to the creamy filling of a chocolate conspiracy


Yeah, I'd rather be rich than stupid.

Chorus 2:

Giving some thought to the pot demand
Like a Don Quixotic ceiling fan
Spinning my wheels in the villainous sand
Making love to my pituitary gland

Chorus 2

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