Well, I mean, do guys who drive hot, fast cars like girls like...me?! That either remains to be seen, or laughed to scorn.
As if to what? my brother lo, fr'intents
Remembers what "his" name is, like'd avail,
Yes, all on "April Fools," and tells me, frail
Though any use is for that note, cuz sense
By dinner's revelation swears twas thence
Some bad joke I played on myself, sans bail,
Whiles how my brothers rate his car's detail
T'effect: "fast, hot...******." O pretense!
So where I whispered that, "I'll know for sure
Tomorrow morning," sigh. For was that true?
Go laugh at me, cuz I don't want in poor
'Scuse to lay dreams to rest. I'm weary, to
Be certain, of this awful game; know fer
All that tis folly, but I want it too.
O damning final note!