Hey, you there. When are you going to stop the talking, and start doing the walk, King?
You know, like, getting things done, instead of just passing along information to him?
Yes, the manly tug who is always crossing the wiring.
So that he may know your plans, and set up roadblocks for you on every hand, while hiring.
Didn't you know? Yes, secrets are the chiefest of his weapons, business.
But you never knew that one, mister man, clueless.
You never knew what was coming along, to strike you hard, on the Bam-Bam, (what a bam bam.)
Ha ha, ha, ha, um. No man, no more of those party songs, or we could be found flirting with the wrong.
They’re wearing us down. Yes.
Well, not until he comes around and whack you with his magic weapon. Hits after chart-topping hits.
Coming at you, from your number one station, to hit you up against the bott…, um, number two, I guess that was you. Yes?
No. T'was the same weaponed dome that he'd always depended on.
But you didn’t know that he had it, in his right hand since, you weren’t paying the proper attention, to the one on the left side of his sham.
Just there blabbering along about what you understand, (or not.)
Didn’t you hear what he was saying about the things he wanted to do in the act? No?
Well, I know you a lot, I guess, but… They’re wearing us down, yes mi clown.
You’ll never know what’s on the other side of the Rainbow, Rock.
Not until his plans come tumbling down on you, Mr. Never-knew-a-lot.
Well, if you're allowed to survive the slaughtering, act, and get back in time to see me sneaking through the crack in the door, lock.
To see them there, making it through to the prosper.
Only because you and I were amongst the chosen few who would have managed to slip under his weapon’s bore, to survive our man, slaughter.
Via the shoot and coupe, of a truth, but. They’re wearing us down.
Still standing up, on top of your asker, was the same one who was there waiting for the answer, yes mister monster.
Whilst pressing his boots up against your throat, caller.
But alas, you were soon to find out that, it wasn't this that caused it. But that. Yes.
Designer Genes, my friend, sent in from Mount Haven. For your own misery and torment, oh gosh mister.
They’re wearing us down. Yes.
But you’re not allowed to think about anything at all Sir.
Not when you're the sort who doesn't have a clue, as a starter.
Stir, stir, stir it well, man. Before you swallow the snot-ball, her.
Meanwhile, I’ll go over there and watch football, my star, if I’m allowed. Am I?
Yes, siree.
Thank you, I agree.
They’re wearing us down. That's why this poet would have spoken the sound, I thank you.
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