From SARS to Mars
So they came from out the rover
And in a great distress
The masters of their destiny
Or the Mistresses of distress
They saw and oh how phoney Phoebe
Lied in her nocturnal caress
Combing the skies like a pair of skis
Fitted for lifelessness
But come on home on your ponies
Oh you boys of the Wild West
For Mars is a showroom of the homies
And the people
Under some duress
They dress their Dunes in frills
And knickerbocker glories
Rock the Mars bar tune
And Roll in the Red sea stories
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