Texty: Residents. Tourniquet Of Roses.

The onion's in the fat
And the bacon's bought the bat
And the Posie's never even near the picture

Now where to went that rotten egg
For feelin' up my lover's leg
I'll boil him 'til the begs to be a breakfast

So I'm left all alone
Because my father fought the foam
And now I can't accept the pharmacy's prescription

So now there is a bank
Where once a summer spring reminded us
Of what we thought we ought to ding a ling

For ringing, ringing rockets
Roar a tub of a' lard today
And all that's left is something else
There is no more to say

Is no more to say now, is no more to say
Is no more to say now, is no more to say
Is no more to say now, is no more to say
Is no more to say now, is no more to say

Is no more to say now, is no more to say
Is no more to say now, is no more to say
Is no more to say now, is no more to say
Is no more to say now, is no more to say
Is no more to say now