exact syllable matches

single

blow from his staff

This is

bogus witchcraft

are

both a bit mad

who get

broken in half

They

don't come in cans

 

don't fucking dance

they

don't run in packs

suitable

for a ship's mast

so much

for Buckingham

Thanks

for comin' back

Thanks

for coming back

bust me

little pussy

for nothin' man

Short

for public lands

looking

for the Big Man

to learn

for the exam

my group

for the exams

Thanks

for the lift, Dad

quarterly figures

for the Midlands

all

four of its hands

over the whole

frozen expanse

 

George, what is that

let

go of his hand

will fucking

grow fucking fangs

to

grow up this fast

You

hold nothing back

 

Hold nothing back

designed to

hold something back

 

hold up, is that

go to the

homecoming dance

There the

horror is masked

Well, you

know something, dad

You

know something, man

clip is

loaded with blanks

represents State and

local demands

She was

Lola in slacks

Then the

moment will pass

a sobering

moral in that

any

more of this trash

against the

most cutting blast

of your

motor skills and

There ain't

no comin' back

overshoot, there's

there is
will be

no coming back

when there's

no fucking past

there's

no such thing as

 

No touching that

and there's

can be
now, there's
path, there's
them, there's
there is
there was
There's
this, there's
was really

no turning back

small,

no work is bad

order,

nor of this last

upper class

nor working class

or involves irreducibly

normative facts

most common in

place names in

northern Finland

from Soldiers of

Odin Finland

catch

old birds with chaff

The

omen is bad

woman who

opened this path

better than an

speak as her

opening act

5,

opening, trans

hotels, our beaches,

or Birmingham

grazing stock

or cutting grass

a sequel

or something FAST

their throat

or something, man

like me,

or something, yeah

David Bowie

or the milkman

seems a very

organised man

it hunted in

organised packs

clanging together

over his back

red light

over his fangs

blood spouted

from slipping

over his hands

a pillow

over his lap

a field

over in France

pour water

over it, and

can get

Rama rejoiced

over this fact

evening, all

sing, all
sisters, All
who rule

over this land

jargon takes

over this task

have brought

over with that

get your

own fucking cab

a great

poet in fact

can

poke a stick at

that

pole up his ass

the

prose of mere fact

draw and

quarter this man

Cause you

so fuckin bad

scales get

so fucking fast

are they

so fucking fat

I'm

so fucking mad

You are

so fucking sad

is canon,

so just relax

 

So what is that

business, science and

social impact

all around the

and the whole

socialist camp

Some

sort of sick prank

than

those of mere ants

Dean

throws up his hands

this bumper-car

token in half

kind of

torture is that

dying under his

torturing lash

is every

voter in France

 

Ward Cunningham

your system of

yoga demands

and ruin

your career plans

rank on

your first exam

car with

gonna kick
package up
stuck up
to fight

your fucking ass

What's

your fucking crack

me see

your fucking hands

one of

your fucking staff

are in

your girlish hands

talking to

your punching bag

with 1 extra syllable

is in

accordance with fact

mine is

also coming back

accept

also what is bad

obedience and

atonement is past

is apparent

before cutting back

Compare the

borrowed doublet and

an

echo from his past

What

emotion is that

In an

emotion-filled dance,

thought has an

enormous impact

come to your

exploded windbag

the

hollow of his hand

the

hollow of its hand

is where my

misfortune began

Ashby

Necrosis is back

watching her

performance in Black

approvals the different

persona demand

to make up

Rio Ferdinand

in

support of this fact

with 2 extra syllables

these

envelopes, stuffed with cash