Paul Bunyan ya temples 'til my palms touch in the middle. I'm tall, hung and my wit'll cause fuss's. Belittle what you call punches. I'm nimble, with raw substance I chiseled from soft stuffing to brittle brawn nuggets of gristle. I get all fucking uncivil typing up these web rants. Riling up the pest ants and frying 'em with left hands. Sire of the net, champed titles they ain't set, can't tire, I'm the best, jam pliers in their heads and set fire to the next man. Got that Bueller humor. Dryer than a deadpan. Bathing cougars in sex panth... er. Doing handstands. This the grandstand verse for you bland canc-ers.
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