Tim Fite
Tim Fite
Tim Fite
Tim Fite
Tim Fite
Tim Fite
Tim Fite
Tim Fite
Tim Fite
Tim Fite
Tim Fite
Tim Fite
Tim Fite
Tim Fite
Tim Fite
Tim Fite
Fair ain't so fair fuckers
There's folly in the pork fat
The devil needs a door mat
For his dirt
Acquired as he keeps it
He'd rather sow than reap it
When history's a secret
For the hurt
(so they very skillfully made you and me hate)
Hate x 4
I'm in a whole lot of hell
And it folds over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over it folds
There's a man
Full of seeds
Says he grows trees
But he don't grow trees
No it don't
It grows roots x5
The roots we hate x3
It grows roots
(you can't hate the roots of a tree and not hate the tree)