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The Residents
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Bossy
Lyricist:Homer Flynn, Hardy Winfred Fox
Sat upon an empty box of Cheerios and settled Through the cracks of wooden floors Forming little cone mountains
Fertile soil on which to rest My dirty little white stone With dimples to keep it from Rolling down the dusty trail
Brought such straight rows Like corn and peas And foot caves in cold dirt Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com And the sore throat that follows
Everyone always knew It ended this way But I still don't understand Why milking the cow didn't work
She was warm and had a rough Muscular tongue for licking Salt blocks and brown eyes like a cow And her name was Bossy We didn't eat her I don't think
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