A bunch of green skydivers chill up high They don hairy brown suits and prepare to fly Not a parachute in site, but tough are their hides If all goes well, they won’t spill their blood of white

You want me, so you shoot me, spit me out, or drown me, hang me even until i reveal all the secrets I have to spill.

I can be laid, but I cannot hatch. People use me to enclose spaces.

I am a kingdom made of little blocks, My rules are clicks, not written locks. Tear me down to start anew, What am I that builds with you?

One of gold. One of wood. One holds the stones, One weathers the flood.