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Tomato, tomahto
Not long until the skies of November turn gloomy, Nate
And man, in his pride, created God in his image and likeness
Throwing Mom for a loop
And floor reinforcement
Oh joy
That leafs 3,600,000 to come
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned
Don’t let the door hit your fanny on your way out
En garde
Tomato, tomahto