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You women always die later
And also are the first for varicose veins
Well, honey, I am looking fab
Would it amuse my son to know
That on the night of his conception
My jism thought its target was Cary Grant?
But Matt, don't let this fuck you up
You'll find a woman, settle down
I want to hold him in my arms
And cradle him until his hair turns grey
And cradle him until his heart stops beating
