There’s a man plead a friendly plea
Who drinks coffee rather than tea
I’ve been listening to his prophecy
(and I don’t need another)
He smokes super fine clove cigarette
There’s a man fight for demand
Where I could never win a game
My fist’s to protect
My hug’s to attack
How could you tell me whose to blame
World is full of amateur
They’re acting like a pro
If I could talk like a holyman
Can I be a canonist too?
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