Lyrics:
her scars She Spanish-dance on the table With butterflies that burn It's like an incessant fox-hunt Too many lessons learned
of the old world were now demystified Wayne LaPierre lay dead, he had been flayed from inside There was a fox-hunt in Britannia and the door gave a click
but they make none Live from the sweatbox, sucking on the (???) Pop some, lookin' for the foxhunt, peace [Verse 2] Yo, the joke's over, slap the bloke
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