On the air of Beautiful: Our-lady of Paris
Bitch,
It is a word which one would say invented for it,
When it updates its large buttocks such
A she-cat very ready to be made stuff
Then I smell suddenly my saw rising.
I put my couilles on his croup of nymphomaniac,
With what is used to me it to kiss other women?
Which, is that which will lick the first glaire to him?
That will undoubtedly dégueulera some by ground.
O syphilis, O leaves me only once,
To slip my fingers into the vagina of Esmeralda.
Bitch,
Is this the bléno which was declared in it?
To ignite my pile of a fire eternal.
Who, slipped into my uretr' this spark,
To prevent me from making me suck like honey.
It carries in it all the bacteria of the sky,
My bite tomb' ruffle undoubtedly if I it dépucelle,
That whose explos' stripes all the holes like putain,
Would it be still quite tight the following day?
O clitoris, you who is not larger than a finger,
However piqu' as much as Amora mustard.
Bitch,
Your large hairs in which I get mixed up myself,
My sperm is lost and stuck to your brain.
And when I thread, hung well with your ears,
My bite as large as the tower of Babel.
Large trail let me feel your armpits,
Before to have thrown to you in the dustbins.
Which, which is that would plant its large dart in it
Under penalty of seeing its lives broken like a bretzel,
**time-out** O heat pisse, I be not a guy ungrateful,
To comfort you, you will take all before arm.
I put my couilles on his croup of nymphomaniac,
With what is used to me it to kiss other women?
Which, is that which will lick the first glaire to him?
That will undoubtedly dégueulera some by ground.
O syphilis, O leaves me only once,
To slip my fingers into the vagina of Esmeralda...
And even all the arm.
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