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why,
why must my mind float,
float so far in to the ocean,
on a boat,
a boat made of strong roach,
growing thoughts
in me brain compartment
that have no rational
like the socks department
of Walmart next to the Starbucks
on exit 15 on the i95
looking back on the poem
that i wrote as high as Ben Bowen
i feel a sensation
that me reputation
is less than Croatian asians
i must say
i would appolagise
all day
if i had the chance
i love you
my followers
live my dream
love
***
of
i
.
stick it up your *** *****
Kwabena Itri Dibra keeps
the room warm, I get the
watch fixed. she always
used to say "キャロルはこ
とがない" which translates
to Carol has never waited
for Treva's reply. What
an *******.Those plumbers
grant him his wish, Reggae
******* shouted last night
******* didn't cook next to
the police station. i need
reggae. reggae is a life style
This is kim's large dish.
This isn't my analy *******
****'s mediocre pencil.
please, pass the spiff mon
o·cean
ˈōSHən/Submit
noun
a very large expanse of sea, in particular, each of the main areas into which the sea is divided geographically.
Hello, my name is Reggae Reggie, and this is my confession.

I am a Reggae mon. My life is Reggae.
I love being a boombastic island boy, slouchin', couchin', and enjoyin' a splif of Reggae love.
I spend most of my time in my home, listenin' to dank Reggae.
Reggae always calmed my mind, until it told me to **** her.
I never would've don it, but sometin' changed.

Reggae

Reggae told me she was a Reggae sham.
Listenin' to screamo on the down low.
That ****. What a freak.

Reggae

I was mindin' my own business, lightin' that sweet, sweet Reggae ******,
Next thing I know, my hands are around her neck.
She begs for Reggae mercy.

Reggae

Next ting I know, I'm in my Reggae basement, blood pourin' all over me.
From her lifeless Reggae body.
The smell of a dank mornin' fills my house.
I love it.

Reggae

I snap out of it.
Realize what went down, downtown.
It wasn't me. It was Reggae.

**Reggae Made Me Do It.
The confession of a true Reggae lover
Reggae* blastin'.
I'm already lost.
Buddy pulls out his ****.
It'll leave me tossed.
Will it push me over the edge?
I take one hit. I fall off the ledge...

Hooo-ah. Woah Mang.
That was quite some hit.

Woke up the next mornin' covered in ****.

*
Reggae
Moral of the story: Know your limits.
I smell like **** right now.
takin the load down the dirt road,
thinkin about the reggae girl me once loved,
boy did i like the way she rubbed,
i notice me rasta themed pants had a little bump,
me third leg was feelin a little stiff,
i decided to light me a little splif,
me started to rub thee bumb in me pant,
no way i was bout to stop, no way, no chance,
i feel a sensation, me son is Croatian,
me lost control of me rig and next ting ya kno,
me in the ditch wit at sticky hand,
me **** leg cost me 1900.00 annually in
insurance. me learned dat me dont
have much indurance. da lesson to be
learned is if your feeling an itch on ya
**** leg, pullover because if ya dont
you be broke as a reggae boy lost at sea
I am a Jar of Jelly, crying for help.
A restaurant in trouble, bad reviews on Yelp.
Garbage service and food, soggy bread and kelp.
I am abandoned on the shelf, like a cold little whelp.
What is lave?

— The End —