Frost bitten frozen. Help generate hell eternal is the Sunday service cry. Yea and Our boy watch as the gleamin winners glide by all chrome car and blonde waif. Our boy don't doubt he ability fa one moment. Don't ever let the end come to close.
Tha future is growin near.
We are now among you-to no one we compare. He make Our boy feel tha heat when tha Winner run his mouth loud. The words, dead and empty drift inta Our boy's ear and he a squirm. Tha Winner speak of leaf and bark, of crescent and no crime. He tell ya on Sunday the place be so fine.