At least then Iâ"š¬â"ž¢m all rested. I wonâ"š¬â"ž¢t let that harm man in It wonâ"š¬â"ž¢t be long now, You stand there all laugh and It wont be long 'til Iâ"š¬â"ž¢m holding you more distant And I got the fever of your ridicule.
In your faulty stomach, you. Cross lines with the vial on you. It wont be long 'til Iâ"š¬â"ž¢m holding you, mouldy stump And I got the front of all your ridicule