At the End of the Hall
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At the end of the hall
There's a little red door
That you've never walked by
Or seen ever before
And a tiny little skull
Painted right on the knob
And it leads to the attic
That's the Home of the Slob
And the Slob is an old old man in his thirties
Counting feathers that were clean But since have gone dirty
And the hot pocket soup
That he keeps in his jars
Hasn't gone bad for months
Cause its oiled by Cars
And the songs that he sings
To the family below
That they think is the radio
From neighbors next do'
Is about one by one
How he'll get them all soon
When the little skull rotates
And he leaves
The room
Credited to dhays202
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