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Jam Baxter
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Incoming
Hold tight the hangers,
wet cement swimmers front crawlin through their manors,
eye-stabbers neck-wringers skin-picking scammers,
I watched them all sliding ladders
from the sky meet your suicidal gooey-eyed attackers,
the little wet brain splatters on the sheets,
from the shoot-outs that reached between your ears as you sleep,
got you shook,
I love it when shit gets obese so you can slash a hole and let the fat trickle through the streets.
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