The king frog
He has no bone
He has no principle only himself
The racist he is
The king frog from the East
Branding his wordsmith
The racist idealogy all over him
He brews his brand of a race
For him he wants it alone
The king frog
Perfecting his art
Jumping wagons
He finds his kind
Mixture of blood
In the cauldron singing
The hot stew
Lacking ingredients to smash record
No salt no sugar no herbs
As bland as he is
Growing fat now can't hardly jump
Using the fools on his biddings
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