Billie, you're my friend the saint
You're perfect in many ways
Though he never looked hard at a fetus in a jar
And he never saw his mama change
And this wonderland of spite
Does not shine inside his night
Black widows are seen as stigmatized beings
Who ought to have a second chance
And hurricanes spin like debutantes in a trance
Sue the fortune-teller
Rue the rising tide
General Washington
Patented his skull, throw him out
Billy might be a saint
But the ladies man he ain't
But his heart became one with some hooker's son
In the form of a female slave
That he found in the back of a mag
Watching beauties in ties and drag
For will feed his center of sins and maybe got what she had
And I need to get home when I see that I'm far away
Sue the fortune-teller
Rue the rising tide
General Washington
Patented his skull, throw him out
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