words per minute
3
DyspepticDyslexic
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Speed
A fall from grace
A fall from high
Those fingers sullied every pie
They all just wish for him to die
You dirty f#ckin' bas#ard
He's now contrite
He now knows right
Be sympathetic to his burnt out plight
His star formation fades to night
You dirty f#ckin' bas#ard
Besmirched his present
Besmirched his past
Smirched be now till his day last
That filthy rotten cineaste
You dirty f#ckin' bas#ard
Pray for heaven
Pray for hell
Just lock him up in a f#ckin' cell
Till walls resound with his death knell
You dirty f#ckin' bas#ard!