Oh,
hey,
I ain't no use getting ready for a fight.
Yeah, yeah,
oh,
hey,
I
ain't no use getting ready for a fight.
Cause there's a day that's come and fills me full of fright.
It's not seven legs that'll make me run,
or feet coming in the night.
Born of a day that showed up,
come when AI realized
One thing it can't count upon is human to the side.
Yeah,
yeah,
oh,
hey,
I ain't no use getting ready for a fight.
Yeah,
yeah,
oh,
hey,
I ain't no use getting ready for a fight.
And
as the day has come, it's still a formal line.
Each one just gets felt like poems of fifty at a time.
Hell,
AI even wrote a song and it sounded just like mine.
See,
this wisdom goes beyond any wisdom we design.
Yeah,
yeah,
oh,
hey,
I ain't no use getting ready for a fight.
Getting ready for a fight.
Yeah,
yeah,
oh,
hey,
I ain't no use getting ready for a fight.
Seems that the future will be one that I barely recognize.
What we've done can't be undone.
Seeking each of finds.
Turn your eyes up above.
Only thing is a look for God.
The one thing AI cannot know is the angel truth of love.
Yeah,
yeah,
oh,
hey, I ain't no use getting ready for a fight.
No use getting ready for a fight.
In defense of cream play,
the adult is known as Wopper,
Gully Womper or Daddy Long Legs.
It is a weak insect, a poor flyer,
easily snatched from the air.
It is drawn to light,
rests with wings outspread.
Its slender abdomen has no scales or sting
or other defenses.
It has small antenna and gyroscopic flight controls behind each wing.
It has six long legs,
which can be pulled off easily,
one by one.
Its purpose is to find a mate,
to procreate,
then die.
They have no mouth,
which to bite or scream.
Ain't no use getting ready.
I
know you're getting ready for a fight.
Yeah,
yeah, oh, hey,
I ain't no use getting ready for a fight.
Yeah, yeah,
oh,
hey,
I ain't no use getting ready for a fight.