Chamatilly feel crazy like it awl cumin 2 to an n.
They harrd all th' old shivlords, ones not sent to
prison, the torchrrrs. Gave them the job of call
-ing up folks on the phone saying you can make
it stop, only you can, any time. And jo mimimm
paymen eeyus: whatever. You can make it stop,
only you chamatilly an until theyun, we call you,
we call you woma ever naughtier laf. All nait lone
woma. We call you call you. Weda shivlords n we
gotchors baby. Chamatilly shake and sweat, turn
over. With the other ear exposed, she could hear
them writing letters. We know you in trubble cha
-l. don dowdit: we rspechu grrl chal. Yu beta pay.
Then sum wicked clerk walk up to a guy in a bar. Step right on his foot, with all he weight. Say mista. Hear you gotta anger prolm.
Well da udda say: I, well I, huh, uh, woe! say...uh.. you on my foot buddie.
An da clerk go, "Uh... idaynt yo foot. It belong to da Lo', bitch."
Chamatilly all ooo i aint even gotta foot dees daze ooo mami whaidai evuh evuh become a damn deity yall sheeyut. [etc.]
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
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