Peter McConnell
Chitlins, Whiskey & Skirt
The population is greatly decreasedAnd now the odds are greatly increasedThat I may someday get a chance to kiss your lipsI thank the Lord each day for the apocalypseFolks are mostly disfigured or deadBut sugar, I won't let it go to my headMy mama's face has dripped down into the dirtBut I'm still chasing chitlins, whiskey and skirt
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