Sf Clits

We are not the ones that are talked about
We’ve fallen out of the family tree
We’re not the ones on the mantelpiece
'Cause we were burned in the fire place
We are the Fuck Offs, SF Clits
We are the Drop Deads, Eat My Shits
We are the Go To Hells
Piss right off — we’re taking under
We are the Strap-Ons, SF Clits
We are the double-fist Piece Of Shits
We are the tear-loss (?) …(?) my fuck/blood (???)
We’re taking under — we’re taking under
We’re not the ones who get sympathy
We live in peripheral vision
We’re not the ones on the milk carton
We got a resounding «good riddance»!
One, two, three, go!