I catapulted my ***-crack into a button-hill made of syrup.

Sticking into surges further built a bitter boy.

Gnawing on sugar cane make sure that noise
is only heard by boys who's dads can own ears.

Shearing hairs of boredom stored on the rear
of huge *****,
over dozens of years has finally amassed
a terminal degree of *******-based behavior.