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Sitting on Choirbench I
Watched you roll the tribe
With some kind of sculptured toys
Even though you promised
Macking corduroy
Buzz went aggro in the drop
His nose kick tripped up
On a speedbump hidden in the bowl
Then Hatch tried to hang
But every digit missed the rail
And he face planted in a gnarly perl
With his stick going ballistic
On the back swing his pintail
Nearly sent him mystic.