i don't know if i can go another round...
low brow and how can alan write such trite shite, mate, now even Steven when it might be right or written within eye sight late-night gripe even in this poor light he won't fight weight he won't swipe for words or wards or he's pissed if you get the gist of my cyst just score it and yet even with his limp wrist he'll twist bust blast fist shit honor this ready set go blowhard and say he's missed lust he's a goner Buck, the mark another lark about which spark blew black-&-blue cluck we may land this bark or this bard too see what this off-hand card he can't stand yet can't cut hair so moves to the left side where he proves wet where he swear i mean swore he's kissed his own hide and i'm not talking seek him *sigh* Man, i'm talking geek in the bleak backside of hark dim sum and sleek span drive-thru who goes there in the wherewithall of asses hides lasses i've curses and swears to chide gasses and middle classes besides wild nurses curt lurker among tall grasses with the dark pimp jumped skimp trumped hurt cloddy word worker and jaunt jerker humped along hot toddy in a shoddy spurt Hurdy Gurt lumped his clumpy pump-up and piebald blurt to back and fro and i heard he hurt the purdy perv slumped forth through all manner with his late night swerve and some nerve pumped banner to call uncle and to curveball us all in this listfall bumped carbunkle cram i am i can't take anymore fake funk and i shan't rumped the jam though he make junk with just any whore and what's more dumped on the go at the exit i swore it off, cough! stumped paths with a cross cat
