What Does She Think

Who knows what she thinks? With a carryon in the bong, we can all feel a fawn- an elf or even a lawn, choreograph the Kong, won-ton the Chong... We can all get along, but with a wrong, we can’t rewrite the- without a face we can’t despite against ya. In an ace there is a heightened –ah? Like color of lace, it's a mighty puck, where it goes is the fight in ya. With the case of the buyers luck- the liars had struck the mired guck, But why must they fire at all of ya? If I’m inspired, i’d hire ya, rewire ta- bake a higher ****! Get by or duck! Ever seen god tired? he’d leave ya admired, never forgets it’s the bean stock, that makes a flock, and its a shame to spot, with your fingers, fibers- or even your hot, so why with-stand when tomorrow is starin’ at ya? Its gods hand that is in the pocket lock, sheep talk, or even a reed walk... Hatein' it in a state of fleeing, strumming or heating- blind or not the eye’s are still teeming, so common common-man get down, that frown isn’t appealing… Get yourself a crowd and put a sheet on the bleeding!