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I was sitting on the fence outside your house
Wishing I could line my sight up on your spouse
But then I saw him holding your baby girl
And that's when I began to hurl

Because I knew that it was really my little grub worm
Because I had impregnated you with my man-sperm
And then I ran away to Mexico for six years
But every night I thought of drinking your tears

Because hookers' tears are far too cold
And dead hookers' tears are far too old
And I want you, more than anyone else, to know
That I thought of you, every time I smacked a ho
©2007-2009 ~Intoxicated-T-F
:iconintoxicated-t-f:

Author's Comments

On a side-note: Do you know how hard it is to draw a dead hooker's eyes?

Comments


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:iconthatoneguyjames:
LQTM...laughing quitely to myself. That was funny, in a Patrick and James sort of humor.

--
... it happens.
:icondoomsayerkevin:
...you scare me, Pat.

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I am but a few left who live by the sword. Of course, it wasn't until AFTER I committed that I learned that those who Live by the Sword often get shot by those who don't.
:iconveiledsymposium:
haha

--
An absolute blend of shadow and justice.
:iconomgxloserr:
Haha, this is very funny. I love it.

Details

May 19, 2007
725 bytes

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