Plop these grapes on me like the martyr you are

Dried nuts, good raisins on the fault line

My perception is darkened when I close my eyes

I feel wine slither down my bald maw

Stiffen up like the pretty boy you are, boy

And learn to swim, my wigger

The sun and stars are homing in on my Arizonian home

I'm waiting for Armageddon while I rub my soaking grape on my plum

It takes me several years to cum, mother of mine

Area 51, more like Area 50-cum

This song took 13 years to make..