*attempts it*


Those kidnapped schoolgirl days, of wearing white burkas are gone,
But in my mind,
I know they will still live on and on,
But how do you thank someone, who has taken you from harps to pluck?
It isn't easy, but I'll try,

If you want to see some sand I would write across the beach in letters,
That would soar a thousand tards high,
To Slip, smell the Glove

The time has come,
For closing boards and long flamewars must end,
And as I leave,
I am leaving tuna juice for my best friend,
A friend who taught me right from wrong,
And dinks from dongs,
That's a lot to learn,
What, what can I give you for rectal burns?

If you wanted my moon I would try to squeeze a fart,
But I, would rather you let me give my shart,
To Slip, with my Glove

If my father had more money than god because he created a war so that his companies could make a lot of money, I'd work with aids children and be really perky and happy too.