Mop

I don't want to be the punks of the school here, but.
1, 2, 3, go

Shit trickling down my leg, the nectars of life
Morbidly obese pigeon looks at me twice

Feeding all his cousins since day one
So fat you can't see his toes, not even one

He has so many talents off the top of my head
He has a year's supply of food even though he's dead

He has the biggest fupa barring the Thicc B
He'll make a good lasagna in.
1, 2, 3
*unintelligible*



Credits
Writer(s): Stewart Maciver
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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