I was shot in the back - by Nilfisk addicted cowboys, by jealousy struck -
outnumbered by hard boiled luck, when I showed them the lights of my
two-forty-five deep blue break - they all stood up and sang about Swedish
designer drugs. I was cutting a tree, and turning my jack into lumber, when
the hitmen arrived - on a boat from the Isle of Song; I was shocked by the
nude identical twins on my lap
a cross-eyed effect of Swedish designer drugs. Its hard to be strong,
depending on Northern refineries. How deep is your fjord? How shallow thy
watery eyes? How could I recupe, surrounded by 95 dogmas? Like a reindeer
Im struck by Swedish designer drugs. Im dating the maid, and driving
electric wheelchairs. Im cleaning the fish - with biodegradable pride. I
was pulling the strings, while playing the fifteenth violin, in a directors
cut of Swedish designer drugs. I was hurting a fly, and winning all Nobely
Prizes. I was probably drunk by the probably best beer around - like a
Viking in need, I got a medal for bad underacting. They all stood up, and
sang about Swedish designer drugs. Swedish designer drugs: its hard to be
strong. How deep is your fjord? When I showed them the lights, they all
stood up, and sang about Swedish designer drugs.
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