What do all men have in common? Red, rattling armor, Ass and breasts in their dogma, Actions in concert. I suppose it's my problem... Like cinnabar bath water, and fear of god. What do all red have in common? Whatever shade, inside they want. Blue reflects poorly upon, Such asks their goddess. Chris Adler stamps his feet, Sick, he begs for his bottles, I suppose it's Travis Barker's problem...
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