There's a poopson in your stomach
The cob's been kicking from within
And he's festive and not from grinch' cords
We'll put an end to him
We'll use all the correct proxies,
No one ever has to know
And then tomorrow I'll sew my ears on, we'll sip another sproke
We'll play jackbox up on /snowball fight/, we'll post zellig although we shouldn't be
We'll be blind and deaf until we fall asleep
we're just too coaled coaaaaaled
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