whats the matter with him?

he's alright
speak for yourself
the love of man
right from the bottom
to the top
little man
big suit
maybe some glasses
foie gras
fat liver
stuff it all down with a stick
its okay we are flemish
stop baking tents
more dongs about mildew and lewd
butane in trite
hunts in a pipeline
beaking in bungs
balking reds; 7/11
gear of shoeslick
the name of this band is fucking cazzo
blue whories
spittle leeches
steakbread
tripe slices