The Laurels

They said I could be Stan Laurel so I became Oliver Hardy
My folks watched their TV dinners splattered into faces like all-American banana pies
So I crept into the pantry and partook in a nightly kugel mass
Dropped me off in the black forest whining for a house to call home

My folks watched their TB dinners splattered into faces like all-American banana pies
It seems the violet beasts arose at the dawn of August 1971 while unfolding magazines
Dropped me off in the black forest wining for a house to call home
Zelda’s embers left me powerless but deacons convinced me I was chronic Lazarus

It seems the violent beats a rose at the Don of August 1971 while unfolding magazines
A slug has slithered onto the cage match of Legs vs. Laughing Louis I, he’s the latter
Zelda’s embers left us powerless but D-cons convinced us we were chronic Lazari
And sure enough, we both blacked out to metal mallet’s music and woke up winners

A slug has slithered onto the cage match of Legs vs. Laughing Louis I, he’s the ladder
Her name was Kennedy, born in a Perrier spring to a V-chip and pyrite ore
And sure enough, we both blacked out to medal mallet’s music and woke up whiners
Derelicts punted us east of the stadium, where I showed her wonders of my woods

Her name was Kennedy, born in a Perrier spring to a V-chip and pyrite ore
So a crypt unto the pantry and partook in a Knightley cudgel mask
Derelicts punted us east of the stadium, where I showed her wanders of my woulds
They said I could be Stan Laurel so I became a liver hearty.

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