dis tracked
i am cupid of ireland
i came to ridicule women into the grave
to be rhetorically relevent to juliet is not plausable
you are tly the last of america, the confident mailbox of your ass
gets passed, like trash beneath my sheets, hoodat?
thats a poser, white trash ballet, think so?
gimme nothing like udder against, my title, bout less
kickers in the mules acres of disease
con't grow out you face, enough laid
brittle pickles, her daddy's lies
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