Text:
Piebald If It Weren T For Venetian Blinds It Would Be Curtains For Us All

've got to clean my eyes out with dirt I've got to stop staring English was made to be rhymed Or made to be destroyed, organized organism Don't ruffle the feathers, don't

As it spun around and around, I thought to myself this is quite amazing Perhaps they would be justified in laughing If this was a scene from naked gun

that plaid skirt over your thighs Don't show too much now Leave some for the imagination It's not what you say It's how you say it It's not what you

that you are disrespecting No more martyrs cause there the brilliant die They teach us what to think but do not teach us how to think If Marcus Garvey

all over everything I can't believe this Mess with the bulls you get the horns, it's not funny anymore The perfect place for friend or foe Boys can't

I've got to clean my eyes out with dirt I've got to stop staring English was made to be rhymed Or made to be destroyed Organized organism Don't ruffle the feathers Don't

crimson red just wait till you get home They'll find us dead for this They'll find us dead They'll find us dead or smiling The trash we were talking all