twenty eightnntell me are you single yetnmy heart's as big as texasnit'd take more than just a lingual threatnto get this pest to let livenat best he'll need a sedativenand strap him to a steady bednat worst it's he's already deadnthe first time folks have heard thisna song of these: the bone dry jokesnfrom the grown kid's spokesmen's notebooksnlil pone go slow and hollownlike an empty rowboat looksnleft to float alone it followsnwhere any air goes, it's took