There's a man goin' 'round takin' names,

There's a man goin' 'round takin' names, and he decides who to free and who to blame. Everybody won't be treated all the same. There'll be a golden ladder reachin' down, when the

Father of the cosmos listens to this clown, or you get the gym rope leading up to God's town, heaven or hell is where we all go, but this guy's making the list

of extra items they'll need: A spare rope, bleach, pills, insecticide, magic mushrooms, the harry potter series, and possibly some cyanide.

"What about some bullets?" Someone behind me asked. "Yeah." I said "They're good for killing." We took the list and sat outside the principles office, coming up with a plan on how

to draw attention to our problems without permanently destroying even the smallest of life's guilty pleasures. At least Mrs. Bridges sometimes listened. We submitted a story to her

butler who then had it delivered to the Viscount of Buskershire. The story was published in the Weekly Gentlemen's Chronicle under a

rather unflattering picture of Shaka Zulu riding an alpaca. Thoroughly befuddled, the Viscount of Buskershire called for his fourth wife to explain the story to him. She tried to

stab him in the throat with the steak knife when he showed her the story. What she had read had confused her so much that there was no time to explain. She went on a killing spree.

within a twelve-mile radius, and she got away with it too, because this is LATE NIGHT! IN NEW YORK! Yeeaaahhhhhhhh! Dadah-dadadah-dadadah! ♫ Then she got too fat & was arrested.