Mullocking tire. Oh, wobbling onward. My sweet desire is always to ride mullocking tire.
Far have I wobbled and much have I seen, dark distant bar-stools and pool rooms of green, fast painted koalas - Australia's on fire - so wobble me back on that mullocking tire.
Mullocking tire. Oh wobbling onward my deep desire is always to ride mullocking tire.
I'll sweep through that Heather, she likes traveling men; she'll judder me back till I'm suckling again - nights when she sings like a Pink Floyd aspire and wobbles just like that old mullocking tire.
Mullocking tire. Oh wobbling onward my dark desire is always to ride mullocking tire
Smiles in the lager and tears in the wine take me right back to that platypus shine, nights when the empties piled higher and higher; then we wobbled for home on that mullocking tire.
Mullocking tire. Oh wobbling onward my true desire is always to ride mullocking tire.
Mullocking tire. Oh wobbling onward my one desire is always to ride mullocking tire.
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