There’s this place just past perfect
Where things have never been
The shat is knee high deep there and
The stank is mighty mean.
People there are ugly
And shorta breath’n time
They force you dranks from dirty cups
You gotta listen to their whine.
Go back. Stay here. Now get on up.
They scratch you with their voice.
But you just dance to rotting musak
Cause you, you’ve got a choice.
Thank you, friend.