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poem.oneByOne()
Chris
One by one the fire ants begun, marching to the beat, of a nuclear drum, for a new clear purpose, to fear or not to fear, only one things certain, their all here to hurt us. Turn dust into dollars then hollar loud for a check, sign on the dotted line, then regret the next ten spent, be upset with the man, cause he is the reason ur stranded in the back of a caravan, brokin down in tan camies panicin, feeling like a maniquin, to scared to stand again, cause the last man with arogance, aparently won't have hair again, but god love it, we love americans, we love guns, and we love terrorist. We love being number one, cause then there is no one too compare us with,

Tags: passion


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