Monday, February 07, 2005

Looka here, momma dear.



Looka here, sweety momma clear,
I don't care 'bout this patty smell like beer.
I can't wait to stick it in my face,
It aint no disgrace, solid gravy cake.
rub it down, momma you make me frown,
I just want to eat a pickled hamburger mound,
Seventeen kids at school tomorrow day,
haif no hospital bowl caracas shplay.

You say my words do not make since, well neither
does your mellonberry fence. I just want to digest this
lovely pie while riding my bike in the Sqweelbert fry.
Thank you mom for teaching me to make these smadwiches.
THey are the best ever. They aren't like sand, they aren't like
witches, they just taste like 4 - 5 trailer hitches. Phankth,
thanks super terry moccasin, I wish my sisters fingoll
puppets tasted like my bike "fockasin".

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