Do you get, like, a punch card?
Say ten prayers, be a dick
That last one, it doesn't count
That barista is a witch
She shrank your hubby undies
She make him wee-wee twitch
She make you wish you younger
All you are is old and rich
Trick down the inseam line
An ingrown hair in your mind
Sugar Drink
Pineapple and Lemon Pine Sol
And just a hint of Almond Joy
Suck it down
Keep your mind unlevened
Reverend alone with little boys
Each Sunday, suggestion box
The Cosmic Manager
Counts your tips, jacks you off
Smells your kids, culls orchids
Through His humble, pedo underboss
He sends you an invite at the end of days
Prompt service, no backtalk
All the Booms sail away!
Trickle down the inseam line
An ingrown hair in your mind
Sugar Drink
Pineapple and Lemon Pine Sol
And just a hint of Almond Joy
Suck it down
Keep your mind unlevened
Reverend alone with little boys
You should smile
There's money in Heaven
Reverend alone with girls and boys
You're perfect
And none are forgiven
Children are only broken toys
