Walking around, minding your own business
Suddenly you hear someone say Doom.
You whirl around to see who said it
But all you see is an empty room.
You turn back, try to forget it
But then the same voice yells Spoo
And finally you realize
It's that crazy boy called Glue.
Oh, Glue, that crazy boy's a weasel,
The one true spawn of certain bands we will not name,
Oh, Glue, guitar-playing fencer
You are what you eat, and that's why Glue is Glue.
Now Glue's a thing that goes by many names-
Elmer's or Super, but I like Crazy.
You can use glue to stick two hamsters together
Unless you're like Glue and you're just too lazy.
He'll laugh out loud at all your suffering,
He loves you as much as he loves himself, only less.
He's the kind of guy who knows he's infectious,
We're not sure what he is, we can only guess.
Parmesan cheese is not good for snorting,
But tell that to Glue and he will smite thee.
He likes crazy burgers and the taste of burning
You know he just lives on pizza and Nestea.
Glue won't grow up, he'll just go blow bubbles,
He's so cute, fuzzy, and full of death you'll swoon,
He'll dance like a monkey, and try to break the church,
And never forget that he is full of doom.
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