Proxies —
They don’t like my proxies Need to hack me a grub Yeah they don’t like my proxies Just don’t wanna give my blood
Almost as soon as the thief breathes his last breath, a cloud of sinister black fog envelops him, and when the fog lifts, the carcass has disappeared.
They don’t like my proxies Need to hack me a grub Yeah they don’t like my proxies Just don’t wanna give my blood