The virus kills human beings 99% are wiped out
The planet can become green again
It is authentic without doubt
Genuine number, the real Macoy
The Earth just did a twissler on you, oh boy
I can't wait to see what the sequel will be
Colour my Apricots like a banana tree
Bake all my forget-me-not in a pie
And say good bye to old mother Hubbard's cooking
Her Four and twenty black birds had to fly
I'm ready to witness the tipping point
When the ice berg turns, like a mountain of butter
Slipping under the occiptal nerves
Slicing a cross section of the human beart
And re-routing the brain
It will be like Art, man, too nude
The naked Earth bare and rude
covered with nothing
But jungle grass
like the day it was born
On its little ass
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