Jesus, I'll tell yah, uninspiration is my cortisone crush then I weeped him a river, he said, hush, baby, hush It's unbecoming of your sort to fumble through the hollows Mush the mash in the pot princess, and we'll teach you to swallow See, I've been waiting for a sort of depressed type of wolfboy to use as a diaper, or bohemian chew toy shame that you spit on the soul of that satan a female no less, who brought home the bacon