Sometimes I feel like I'm stuck on a hook, with the business end stabbin through the back'a my lip,
silly me thinkin that you people were good, and this underwater hell isn't helping my mood,
cause I've been plucked from the dirt, only to be returned,
to the only other place where I'm considered a food,
ahh the life of a worm, such a desolate fate,
well atleast I'm not goin out on some fat bastards plate.
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