But how many well-mannered singers these speakers have! Say, don't you also pay taxes like me? Come on, do you really report the piles of money you make? You seem nicer than a friar, to the masses. And if so, hats off to you. Top of the class, why am I missing the call? The teachers and the janitor think I'm a newbie, they tie my hands but I write with my dick! If I talk about bullshit everyone says how nice, if I make controversy I'm cannon fodder. For goodness sake, banalities are much better, talking about emotions, this is the motto. Prr. coma? Don't you find the bang emotional? If you wait a second I'll offer it to you from below... I don't give a damn about poetry, I myself was born for a condom that broke... x7 x8 biscuit. This is why I follow the law of the nettle that encourages me every day. When I write down the text, what do you want me to tell you... There is no pleasure if it doesn't irritate. Speak of love, sir, of the love that never dies, but you don't conclude a relationship, your ladies call you infamous, they become nuns for you. You don't recognize your offspring, feed them like a good shepherd, instead of shooting arrows at your heart to screw all the copyrights. But what is love? It's a concept that means everything and nothing. From the obvious love of the man in love to the love in a broad sense for people. Dear teacher, you feel like you're lying, you're the lover who wants to be the student. Her dinghy makes more water than an incontinent person for those who love to be prickly. This is why I follow the law of the nettle that encourages me every day. When I write down the text, what do you want me to tell you... There is no pleasure if it doesn't irritate. I like those who go out of tune, those who distort what they play, the singer with the good voice goes to the monastery, in the choir of the clergy, instead of parading in black in the proud gala, but what charity, that is a den of gaga with the paparazzo who will give you ago: Look here!. But on that photo there, my canary makes mountains of poop. They sing cheerful hit-and-run tunes, constructed with more calculations than in Fiuggi. If the cow doesn't breastfeed, what do you milk yourself? What, are you stinging yourself? Not me, far from me! I run away with a skid, if I have something to say to my beloved I'll bend her over. A-ha a-ah my beloved, love isn't said, it's done, here I am for the gangbang. This is why I follow the law of the nettle that encourages me every day. When I write down the text, what do you want me to tell you... There is no pleasure if it doesn't irritate.

SUBMIT CORRECTIONS