Text:
Fish Worm In A Bottle

down to the last skin and the limelight splutters, to darkness in the death of a zippo (tm). At the backstage door the last fan has long disappeared with a

floating down from Hannibal With a bottle and a worm and a cane pole We were fishing for secrets where the catfish crawl And the Mississippi River

end without a bungee [Wooo!] 'Cause life is a circus and the girls on Haight Street are way too funky [true!] Time to feel like a martyr, a satire, a

back (Yeah, mama-beetcha, it's like 'dat!) Smash you like a bottle of brew, 'cause you's a trick Fuck that shit, matter of fact, eat a dick Psychopathic

You can hang me in a bottle like a cat Let the crows pick me clean But for my hat Where the wailing of a baby Meets the footsteps of the dead We're all

in the [? ] You now I'm on a roll Like the man of the [? ] The Go is my home but My man is from Michigan And when I'm fishing for A line of a brain [? ]

back (Yeah, mama-beetcha, it's like 'dat!) Smash you like a bottle of brew, 'cause you's a trick Fuck that shit, matter of fact, eat a dick Psychopathic

your back (Yeah, mama-beetcha, it's like 'dat!) Smash you like a bottle of brew, 'cause you's a trick Fuck that shit, matter of fact, eat a dick Psychopathic