No, your wardrobe,
no,
well,
you've got to make it last dead pants,
worn out shoes.
You've got to mix and match.
Go to market and your finance.
You've only got five bucks.
Billy wardrobe,
Philip.
Well,
you've got to wear it.
Got to wear it.
Got to wear it.
Those in time for your ego.
It's just a tip away fixing holes.
Oh, the Methuselah.
Ten years in every stage.
Dead pants,
a corduroy.
Waiting for the end to come.
Swelling mirror.
In my tune in.
To its pleasure,
its pleasure,
its pleasure,
boy.
No, your limits, no, well,
you've got to let these like that.
Luzio let out the dry in the northern sun has day shown
the things to pressure and a broken glass.
What's to do?
You've got to make it,
got to make it,
got to make it.