Okay, serious advice for some serious spammers:
You gotta be crazy, you gotta have a real need;
You gotta sleep on your toes, and when you're on the street
You gotta be able to pick out the easy meat with your eyes
closed.
And then moving in silently, down wind and out of sight,
You gotta strike when the moment is right without thinking.
And after a while, you can work on points for style-
Like the club tie, and the firm handshake,
A certain look in the eye, and an easy smile-
You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to,
So that when they turn their backs on you,
You'll get the chance to put the knife in.
You gotta keep one eye looking over your shoulder.
You know, it's going to get harder, and harder, and harder as you
get older;
And, in the end you'll pack up, fly down south
Hide your head in the sand-
Just another sad old man
All alone, and dying of cancer.
And when you loose control, you'll reap the harvest that you've
sown.
And as the fear grows, the bad blood slows and turns to stone.
And it's too late to loose the weight you used to need to throw
around;
So have a good drown, as you go down, alone
Dragged down by the stone.
I gotta admit, that I'm a little bit confused-
Sometimes it seems to me as if I'm just being used.
Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise.
If I don't stand my own ground, how can I find my way out of
this maze?
Deaf, dumb, and blind, you just keep on pretending
That everyone's expendable, and no-one has a real friend;
And it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the
winner,
And everythings done under the sun.
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