LordBabyHat

Pick up a tune of the glockenspiel kind. Don't be a goon the water feels fine. It's that time o’ night, how it may be despite, the concerns with your yearns of wrong from right.

Smack a bag of Franzia and that’ll quit your grumbles, ‘cause that's the way Hansel and Gretel’s cookie crumbles.

Just like Mussolini, in a bowl of tortellini. It doesn't taste good unless you add some green zucchini.

I bought a large goat from a large goat forum. I would tote him home but I don't know where to store him. So I climbed the Great Highlands, where all the good goats play. I found a big ole fat one, and sang the livelong day.

Gather round smoke our thing hear the tale of Folklore Jim. A Hobo on a train in an overcoat with stains. In a flash I saw a rash accompanying his cane. Hard to just ignore em but where's the bloke's decorum He calls himself King but I didn't vote for him

Just like Mussolini, in a bowl of tortellini. It doesn't taste good unless you add some green zucchini.

I bought a large goat from a large goat forum. I would tote him home but I don't know where to store him. So I climbed the Great Highlands, where all the good goats play. I found a big ole fat one, and sang the livelong day.

Gather round smoke our thing hear the tale of Folklore Jim. A Hobo on a train in an overcoat with stains. In a flash I saw a rash accompanying his cane. Hard to just ignore em but where's the bloke's decorum He calls himself King but I didn't vote for him

Swerve in all swank cause my stature surely startles. A klepto and a klank with fractured metatarsals.

Your sarcastic words are plastic, please grasp it from my basket. I won't carry this shit, no matter how fantastic.

EAT your garbanzo, or BEAT it you’re GONE-ZO!

If you slack a bit I might smack a tit so add a jacket to the back of it and don’t practice it in my catchers mitt or call me in the morning.

There’s a program of a single step, it’s got no air just pringle pep. If you wanna know how to make or beget, you gather the know-how to take a leaflet.

That’s a Post and Lintel, Brick and Mortar shop selling Roasted Lentil (in a Mortar and Pestle) slop

Send a dang Mongol bum to go and bang a bongo drum, a little bit too hard like the taste of wilted rhubarb. I rustle my feathers in this brussel sprout weather. I guess it comes down to just muscle and leather.

Bing! Bang! Boom! I got no more room. I’ve filled up on junk, the gunk sunk I assume.

Converse with a person, a verse you’ve rehearsed. To curse the first and worse son, coerce him til he bursts!

They call me “King Cool“ in the land where I pretend. They really call me nothing ‘cause I have no friends.

This is JUNGO’s hung bunch and the FUN BUNG-HOLE punch!

Take my shoe and throw it in a basket. Don’t sniff glue or you’ll end up in a casket.

Swiveling Swahili in your mowed front lawn. Impaling impalas whence they hunt at dawn. Bubbling bombardment to your left flank cheek. Quarreling quandaries of who spanked their meat.

Oh my, I do say, this is masterfully written. I don't lie, the bootay will be naturally smitten.

“Have respect for the dildos, son. Wash it when the bilbo's done.“ “Okay Dad, I’ll clean after play, but those dildos are mine. I’m gay.“

I heard a foray in my foyer, over to play with a toy or, so I believed, but I was deceived. T'was only foreplay to a voyeur.

Prep your buns and ready your eyes. Dads and sons and apples and pies. We scream “IT’S TIME!” we’ve made it at last. You’ll never forget LEAF IN ASS!