LordBabyHat

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.

I harangue a song so dumb 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.

I got turkey up my ass I ain't one for bluffin Though thanksgivin passed This bun's for stuffing

“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!

A fortunate Scorpius forages, there's no shortages of porridges or Florida oranges. Of course there's no origins of fauna or flora sins but some orcas swim with limp dorsal fins.

Take the whole fam gambling, go grab your kin. Mam's rambling "go max or min!" Damn, all the bramble and gin. BAM! All the bets are in. I'm clamoring.

I got turkey up my ass I ain't one for bluffin Though thanksgivin passed This bun's for stuffing

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

Stuck in a log I made friends with rocks. I got a catalog of nothing but socks so I buy a new pair every brand-new day and I won't give a care to your mama's dismay.

Your salty fox won't get ya home with my faulty aux on saxophone. My trusty ox is on prednisone. If ya want the sauce we’ll throw the bone.

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 2 just ignore em but wheres the blokes decorum. He calls himself da King but I didn't vote for em

I got turkey up my ass I ain't one for bluffin Though thanksgivin passed This bun's for stuffing