I have fuckedyour mumwhile we were inyour bedroomand whileyou were probablyshoppingfor Mother's DayForgive meshe was deliciousso sweetand so old
I offer you, without personal or organizational bias, Marcy Playground:Saint joe he said hes never beenDressed up like a womanSaint joe they said your dad is gayThey said your momShes a whore they said it til youWere raw they said your momShes a bore they made her begThem for more my aunt maryAunt maryAunt mary saysThey have the darkness there in their eyes
I am somewhat miffed that I am the only motherfucker in this game.
Whose plums these are I think I know.She's shopping in the village though;She will not see me stopping hereTo eat her breakfast icebox sloe.
Well, RB it is a specialised field, really. Don't get all whiny on us motherfucker
They fuck you up, these cold sweet plums.You steal them from your live-in chums.They fill you up with sugared fleshAnd rocket out your thieving bums.
Ah. It's recursive. And googlursive.Kinda like an acronym like BNB that stands for Bubba's not Bubbalicious.Recursive.Gonna go stir the Bernaise now...mikey
I noticeyou corrected your typoin this, the vault copyGrammar zombie Policeissues warningstraighten the fuck upor we will send Grannies to Stomp your Eyebrows
Oh, right. Thanks for the reminder.
I think that I will never eatA plum as flavourful as meat.
"You are old, Mother Mary," the young man said,"You are barely one step from the tomb.And yet all my friend come around just to fuck you.Do you think you could use your own room?"
Fuckin Grannies rock my worldFuckin Grannies, frock unfurledFuckin Grannies, just too greatFucking Grannies, watch 'em mate...mikey
I saw the best plums in refrigeration consumed with gladness, starving roommates naked, dragging themselves through the laden fridge at dawn looking for a breakfast fix
If those were your plumsthen I am a flying monkeyWhen you pay me the 6 months of rentyou oweyou can bitch about afucking plumI nickeddickhead
I saw the plums, they looked a bitMoldy, and around the pitThere seemed to be some kind of bugsWetas crawling, or maybe just the drugsThe Blackberries were what I chose to eatThey were perfect, rich and sweetI used the last of the half and halfBut then I pissed in the carton for a laugh...
Do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do, doDo, do, do, do, do, do, doDo, do, do, do, do, do, do, do, doDo, do, do, do, do, do, doI was made for lovin you GrannyYou were made for lovin meAnd I cant get enough of you GrannyCan you get enough of me???As el capcha would say "Puncho"
The Blackberries were what I chose to eatDid they blend?Also, PARPH.
"You are old, Mother Mary," the young man said,"As I earlier ventured to say.Yet you frequently feature on MILF-of-the-Week;You even shagged Billy, who's gay.""In my youth," said his mother, "I flatted with friends,And often I pilfered their plums.The fructose I swallowed has rotted my teeth,But given me soft supple gums."
I am the mother-fucker.They send me to eat in the kitchenWhen company comes,But I laugh,eat your plums,And grow strong.
I wondered lonely at a plumThat sits in icebox here and chills,When all at once I must succumb,and eat your breakfast if it kills;I'm sorry, dear; I left a note,a half apology, half gloat.
Oh you can't bounce a meatballSo try with all your mightTurn on the radioYour plums took just three bites
Those were nice plumsI wonder who owned themNow they are gone
There once was a person with fruitA poet thought he'd have a hootBy eating those plumsLeaving nothing but crumbsAnd that's why I'm writing this noot.
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