Lyrics

Bring them to the pond
Where your fowl shits
Ill-fitted crotch
Paid a fuck for it

You long for the mud
Not your mud

You gawk at it
You'd fuck it
You're worse than it
Fucked to feel what it is to be meat

Booboise! Balanciaga!
Lick my dirt pits
Orange peel tits
Stench of grace
Fuck your face

This ain't your sex mat
This ain't your slum flat
You're all just fine
So why are you crying?

You want tragic
Nothing's tragic
It's so tragic

Hey, you dissonant clump!
Go grab a Vitton cock bag
And we can have lunch
At Rana Plaza, okay?

They look so pretty
Being broken and ripe
Avoid the stench
And the eyes
But that's not what gets you off about that