About the thing that makes me sing, I cry the notes honestly, no lie, while eating pie, chocolate chip, it eases the pain in my left hip: 7 pieces shattered to the bone, and I want to live with Dad and Mom at home, Charlton Mass, a donkey is an ass, on that of my sweet last lass, but in a mental-hospital- she was so cordial, on the phone, dial at the dial-tone, with my clean fingers, my digits unable to play the piano, like My Mom Deborah does the duty of playing a sweet tune at the most, and I hit a post, being a telephone pole, and making a call, how how I do it?- I do it for it all, and Allah my Delivery to Him, I pointed straight up just as a whim, my way of instructing all Allah, and now not knowing him anymore, although I still want to Score!
And the New England Patriots are the champions, like Hampy runs behind the fridge, catched soon after I was filled with laughter- mighty adventure my little friend, for you are in my clutches, it was not the end, pellets being your munchies, and running in your wheel- how does it feel? Going so fast, spin-spin-spin, I thought I had seen you last!
I give you, the remaining straw to swallow your swish, the sweet 5% swill, run of the mill with Mr. Miller of The Geneva Plantation, all across the Nation!
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