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Lost Art of Murder Lyrics

Roll a four, roll a nine,
Find yourself washed up in paradise.
Just like before you didn't mind,
Someone else washed up in paradise, every day.
What a nice day for a murder,
You call yourself a killer but the thing you're killing is your time,
There's nothing absurder,
Than a bird that's a burden to your heart, soul, body, spirit and mind.

Don't look at me like that, she won't take you back,
Said to much been, too unkind.
Get off your back, stop smoking that,
Change your life, just might change her mind, her mind.
Roll a four, roll a nine,
Find yourself washed up in paradise.
All the fours or all the nines,
I lost my phone in paradise, pay as you go.

What a nice day for a murder,
So you're a killer, only thing you're killing is time,
There's nothing absurder,
Than a bird that's a burden to your heart, soul, body, spirit and mind.
Don't look at me like that, she won't take you back,
Done too much been to unkind.
Get up off your back, stop smoking that,
Change your life, think it'll change her mind.
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