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Hey Man, How about a Courtesy Flush?
Fighting and fucking, what does it mean?
I’m too busy fighting a nature deemed too obscene sentencing fleshed out by the jury of me
In all matters of the latter – oh, ubiquitous fuck – I’ll take -ING over -ED if you know what I mean. We all like it hard, let’s get down, really- fucked up can’t always be the state of my being. Say – let us take in the words of our friends in the latrine
Something about sitting, not shitting, broken hearts, only farts and here I am. Talking about all these cans while I can’t not
Is there a difference? Am I oblivious? Is life even mysterious?
I don’t know that there is such, I think it’s got something to do with all that ING-ing cause when it’s me
Fucking up grammaring, clamoring, stammering, up these hills I’m scrambling, rambling – running out of shit to keep rhyming with – lemme ask you, Austin, is your coffee life or shit?
And where am I in this? Sometimes I push too hard to bliss, steal a mirror, take a piss. Wanna flush it down or float amidst
These coffee runs and coughing lungs, because I can’t become one I’d call my chum – if two is my number, why haven’t I won?
Lose myself in this, listless, hopeless, find myself in a hell I wished, but I insist, it’s easier to run than tune in and just shhhhsshhh
Swirling a drain that does not exist, no matter how I try to wordsmith it, I just need to fucking admit
This pot, child, you just get off or you must simply shit
So, stop fucking fighting it
Just do the shit
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