LordBabyHat

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

Bubbling bombardment to your left flank cheek Quarreling quandaries of who spanked their meat

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 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.

Swiveling Swahili in your mowed front lawn. Impaling impalas whence they hunt at dawn.

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

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

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.

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.

Swiveling Swahili in your mowed front lawn. Impaling impalas whence they hunt at dawn.

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

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

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

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

Bing bang boom. I got no more room. I’ve filled up on junk, the gunk sunk I assume.

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

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

Bubbling bombardment to your left flank cheek Quarreling quandaries of who spanked their meat

Swiveling Swahili in your mowed front lawn. Impaling impalas whence they hunt at dawn.

They call me "King Cool" in the land where I pretend. But they really call me nothing cuz I have no friends.

I got turkey up my ass, I ain't one for bluffing. Though Thanksgiving passed, this bun's for stuffing.