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The One We All Wrote

(lyrics were all compiled from random social media submissions from friends and followers, spliced together)

An engorged gazebo sports tomatoes on the vine while an excretory shammy hits on a moist strumpet.
Perpendicular calendars reveal frivolous decadence of systematic sass and technicolor delicious
while conjetory hilarity rejects antichrist brothers and their pouting crush on a melon baller brawler.
Summertime Pooh gets down for Halibut pudding. A mind bending commercial for a lovely lactavist makes an appropriate smoothie from a vintage miracle based on a dishonest submission in the arctic upstairs.

A glamorous avatar wearing a Debbie Gibson trucker hat is charting Google invites for a Doctor Who companion, who’s drinking hot Kool-Aid in her time-machine ambulance from Chartreuse Five. We all shout: Abracadabra!

Destiny calls collect from a metropolitan bukkake farm while ninja assassins claim kleptomania on their taxes, eating Luke-warm sandwiches.
Just like downtown, the rain pains the insane, forging a solid gold silver lining.
Merangay cookies smoking sprinkled Christmas news, while discussing mortality’s conduct and falling off the rails.
A sense of elongated independence consumes relations with the legendary vocal stylings of a swimsuit arena technocrat’s sweet ambrosia during a doink.

Amicable arrangements between douchebaggery associates squeaking Honest John’s sausage.
I’ll be dipped. You son of a bitch. Oh, well. What do you do?
Fiddlefuck a triquiteral, then lollygag and capitate. Lunate. Bombdiggitty. Dude. Booyah!
Hamate? Bollocks! Spank my ass, fiddlestick. This hootenanny is exquisite. It is.
Abracadabra.

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