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Description
You're gonna call me particular
while I call you a stickler,
both putting the sour faces on,
our lips pouting so long we'll trip up,

tumble and fall down, realize we're
both clowns and send our frowns
downtown for the mayor to deal with
the problem till he raise taxes to

pay for the consultants. We'll take ‘em back,
(city folk in a riot) put them back on till
wrinkle lines become etched in our foreheads,
scaring kids away; Halloween in August.