B U F F A L O    P O U N D
(Music: Chore / Lyrics: David Dunhan)

She's a mouthbreather.
A werewolf.
Portly abolitionists and the milk.
Her face is aura rhanes.
Worth her weight in good taste.
Pound for pound in apocalyptic scripture.
I can't wait to breathe this werewolf.
The werewolves kept sons to help them write their bible.
There's piss all over the wherewithal.
Werewolves channel the dead and gloat and make salt.
(Write my songs. / Haunt my house.)
Proud of the werewolves.
My infantry torch.
She's a sack of tears.
A good rope.
My werewolf tied me up and called me "Muscle."
Her confession is the good rope.
Trepanning on the corner of main and helena.
Your werewolf died on a pub-crawl,
five seats back by a fat girl, 
whereas my werewolf washed her options off and missed my bus.
(howl.)
So proud of my werewolf!
Insect tycoon dentists seer werewolf buffalo the Davester and the bus.