Lyrics:
amountin' to waves, I'm certain Behold I'm a fountain, I was made for spurtin' Listening saves me, the fame oracies A hint of 'em in me, engraved for the beat
own, enlarge it Her equipoise has a tendency To rouse from slumber a boy in Tennessee Reticent in oracy But please raise a glass with me: Joy Alethea,
of the universe is where you caught a thought of me; The prophet of oracy; And the name of my sceptre is Dorothy;
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