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Retarded Fren (Thom Yorke & Jonny Greeenwood Version)

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Тексты
My honest days work for honest days pay, stay taking wages the anonymous way.

Karmish, paid to the Amish selling, promised Nicole Bond palm it's swelling.

With no tact though, lips so fat though, wondering in pitchers why his lips are so black, yo.

No question, an ounce of prevention, is more than a pound of raw, pure, pure attention.

Attention, no throwing stones at the homeless.

Offs, ye ain't self -made, end of what you're thrown.

Bless, chrome dust, nano -sized articles.

Stop telling hoes through the YouTube.

With hearted fools, defeats the purpose.

Greedily slurp up the surplus of purpose.

So nervous you can hear the shirt must gush.

Hush, hush, trust.

Visible until the earth crust but, dead drop.

Leave it right there.

Chop it off, heads bop, breathe it like air.

You hear? Yup, study the devil.

Play the game and choose to do so on a bloody level.

Who sent him? Steady, losing momentum.

Old, either rapper, one a day, like Central.

The mask is like a gun, dum -dum -dum -dum.

And it don't matter where you come from, ya bum.

What happens when the poles shift?

Don't matter for ish, who you roll with.

Cold and stiff.

Hold it in.

If in case you need a facelift, sold a gift.

Rip it like space -time, foam -folded grift.

Sun still shines in the morning.

We ain't promised tomorrow, something's definitely scorching.

Like a ice ball, off -guard, soft -hard.

Ask him, he could give a F -like report card.

Out -spin him like Jonah.

Add bonuses, intel suggests they had no fluhonuses.

On his microphone, biz, miss, slaughter.

That's on his two premature daughters, they orders.

Your thought was all quarters, halves, wholes, and rolls.

Like good times, sold like good dimes.

It's just begun to begin to begin to end.

Smart back again, smarter men.

And his retarded friend.

What?