Candy, candy, candy, candy, never find my ostrich house.
Candy, candy, candy, candy, death bestow upon the louse.
Backseat moderators make me want to punch a wall.
Can you see the testicles of my really desperate hall?
The candlelight has not one instance of my precious fall.
A cat, a duck, not even a prostitute licking the taint beneath my ball.
It goes the distance of a convoluted instance.
That be the delicate fancies of the really big words.