Army ants march up my arm, snipping and pinching all asunder.
In go the grellow beatles, ready to pillage and plunder.
Amidst the tramping orange-bottle feet, I’m left in a cold blue thunder.
Army ants march up my arm, snipping and pinching all asunder.
In go the grellow beatles, ready to pillage and plunder.
Amidst the tramping orange-bottle feet, I’m left in a cold blue thunder.