"So what do you do for a living ?" "I'm a money stylist."

Getting ready to... honestly I don't remember what. It's been like a week or two and honestly the phenomena kaleidoscope carousels too much for anything like memory spanning the weekly gap.

All that's left is the bullwark of structure, which assures me it must've been fun (also known by the "scary" exonym -- but what's in an exonym!)

Pickled hot peppers on the side!

"Oh, that's what it was!"
"What was it ?"
"Uhm... with the... hm."
"Was there a midget dancing on a table ?"
"You know what ? I think so!"

Drugs are bad, mkay.

And all the while you thought you knew how to make coffee.

Go back toy, our keurig's not like urkeuring!

You know, like a hair stylist. But with money.

If ya havin' gal problems I can't help ya out, pal -- I got ninety-nine pictures an' de's hos'n most a'em, bitch'n 'em, lickin'em, walkin' dat rope'n 'em... Faggoty gay problems to be havin' at dat H.O. Corral.

Wanna-be "critics", all "Money Cash Hoes", then when theys go home be reachin' dat keyhole on tiptoes. I'm be like... can't let 'em kiss my asshole they'z capable to eat it whole.

If you don't like the lyrics go hump at your Civic, the one thing that rhymes with lyric's Pyrrhic. Meanwhile back ho, me gots ninety-nine pictures an' de's hos'n most a'em.

Ready to go raid the slum ? Lin'em up, fuck'em dumb, all the sophomore hos going uuh-uuuh-mmm. My bowl, it come with lips an' a tongue, self-contained, ecological, futuristical.

While dem boitois line three to the wife an' she's still givin' 'em shit for it. So if ya havin' princess problems, what can I tell you... hit it.

Bitch toys for the bitches, you see ?

Bae.