i've never know anyone who died and regretted it.
her pussy was candy paint red. it's called opening up.
my weight isn't a problem anymore. i fit into my shit,
and i can still wedge a space in any couch if need be.
hear me down a gulf stream of coors. turn up the ac.
this isn't a big idea. it's a small one that won't die.
i'm trying to find the quiet space in hardcore,
and i'm getting laid all the time, beer or no beer.
if there is any constant in life, then that's it.
everything will happen regardless of yourself.
and a hundred generations of sad motherfuckers
to analyze it over and over and over and over,
til there ain't shit where it was, and our kids are just that.
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