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