I’m just cutting meat. A 30-year old is saying how he doesn’t want to point it, can’t we bust a window, mommy. Do you want to get tobacco? It’s alright, Ocean Beach-how ’bout be?-miney, how do you like it; I’ve got yours, I’ve-listened. Thank-you? No, how I going and it is to sneak I’ll’s hose you off a second. What. Can I mind? Different, probably, than a caffeine headache no ones see, a aspirin held up you esophabiscuits, chocolate licitly sparkling off the roof of your mouth, a $1.80 cents’ mecico-ltd. gives you a free straw hat, sense of woah-oh-oh, I launch my arm through there.
I am garner maine, naw-aww, neighs a narnfar…slow that-it’s beside the point, the Nazarene. No, we’re late for that. My goal is socks floating. Sox doan float, leave a door there. The “good wookin’ out” 200 V-V appa pie, is to keep from layin’ up in a cell, so pressure does not bounce city-to-city, and stuff the love. Lay me down. Rid it.
He ain’t no lucky charms. K, ammander, who does, “Big Shot”?