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Lyrics:
The hunter lines his trophies up across his wall, beneath his bed... A tiger's head, a snakeskin rug, slugs in a jug, the bugs make halos 'round his phone. He'd call his friends to come around - they'd all get stoned when he pulled old Medusa moaning from a sack. She poses then she cracks their mirror shades. It's just her way. He let's her play a while then throws her back, then they all go fishing in the reservoir...
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