"jock" poems
We live in a world filled with stereotypes.
Stereotypes that make us ashamed of who we are.
There’s a woman in my neighborhood who wears tight clothing and high heel shoes but that doesn’t mean she’s a ******
There’s a boy in my class who listens to rap music and wears baggy clothes, but that doesn’t mean he’s out on the street selling dope.
There’s a girl in my class who rarely says to words and get’s straight A’s, but that doesn’t mean she’s a goody goody.
People ask us all the time of who we think we are,
but it doesn’t matter to them because before we can even digest the question and regurgitate the answer they have already made their mind up of who they think we are.
Some people are considered a brain.
Some a trouble maker
or a ****
A princess
or a ******
But the truth is we are all smart, just in different ways.
Everyone of us has some athleticism in us.
Everyone one has gotten into some trouble.
We have all had are princess or prince moments.
And everyone of us is weird,
some people are just better at hiding in it.
You remember my neighbor I told you about?
She dresses like that, not because she is trying to sell herself
but because when she was younger she got bullied and no one ever noticed her because she never had designer clothes because her mother had no job and her father left when she was 4. And ever since then she made herself a promise that she would make sure people noticed her.
And that boy with the baggy clothes?
He wears those baggy clothes to cover up the cuts and bruises his father comes home from the and had one to many drinks.
And the girl who get’s straight A’s and doesn’t say much?
She get’s those straight A’s because if she doesn’t she gets a straight hand across the face and she doesn’t talk because she has sever anxiety.
So the next time you point and laugh at someone remember that they’re 3 fingers pointing back at you.
And the next time you assume something about something remember that when yo assume yo make an *** out of U and ME.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
I'm determined,
Lack the feeling of yearning
The desire to talk about this insecure little daddy's girl,
Yes
Like me,
Yeah you blame the world,
But comparing yourself to me,
I'll make you scratch your eyes out
And turn you back to ******* *****
Don't leave a comment,
Just mean what you say,
If you don't have reasons,
Get out of my face,
You don't know me,
You never met me,
You look like you ****** on 82 *****
Your a big mouth ***** you need to be stitched up,
Your skills on the pad they flock,
Must have been the time of the month when you sent that comment,
Miss Arlo Disarray get off my ****
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 7:46 PM UTC
Society, it pins us against each other;
Chubby girls are forced to hate themselves all the ads that say they are not right and that makes them cry at night. They defend themselves by calling littler girls sticks which makes those littler girls suffer;
Gays are forced to hide or "pay for the crime";
We are all separated into our own cliques where we are forced to stay.
A nerd and a **** are forced to hate one another because the athletic and genus differences. Society is cruel but its hard to keep are judgement under control.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 8:57 PM UTC
if i was a girl i wouldn’t shave i’d be a tomboy ballerina with upper body muscles maybe a **** or surfer girl smell a little subtle i’d be tough learn to take a punch but i’d also be fragile sensitive intelligent i’d dress down like female ducks gray beige brown yet wear thongs boots bikinis heals girl stuff if i was a girl i’d be freaked out by ************ and even more freaked out by menopause depressed i lost my wetness if i was a girl i’d flash *** crotch drive boys wild be a complete nymphomaniac **** until i found the right guy he’d be strong gentle patient caring with a cute ***** i don’t care how big if i was a girl i’d learn to give blow jobs really good acquire a taste for ***** and play that skill as my trump card if i was a girl i’d find a job roll up my sleeves be a hard worker impress my managers become a manager quit i would find another type of work maybe a writer painter if i was a girl i wouldn’t compete with men i’d simply be more creative smarter if i was a girl i’d want to give birth as scary profound as that might be i’d want to be a mom a nurturing loving attentive mom i’d garden cook sew clean stand by my man my children devoted to home and hearth if i was a girl i’d cry a lot but not in front of anyone if i was a girl i wouldn’t want to become an old woman surrounded by other old women taking care of sick old men or no old men if i was a girl i’d want to die instantly in an accident or in bed reaching ****** age 82 if i was a girl
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 7:37 AM UTC
poetry readings have to be some of the saddest
****** things ever,
the gathering of the clansmen and clanladies,
week after week, month after month, year
after year,
getting old together,
reading on to tiny gatherings,
still hoping their genius will be
discovered,
making tapes together, discs together,
sweating for applause
they read basically to and for
each other,
they can't find a New York publisher
or one
within miles,
but they read on and on
in the poetry holes of America,
never daunted,
never considering the possibility that
their talent might be
thin, almost invisible,
they read on and on
before their mothers, their sisters, their husbands,
their wives, their friends, the other poets
and the handful of idiots who have wandered
in
from nowhere.
I am ashamed for them,
I am ashamed that they have to bolster each other,
I am ashamed for their lisping egos,
their lack of guts.
if these are our creators,
please, please give me something else:
a drunken plumber at a bowling alley,
a prelim boy in a four rounder,
a **** guiding his horse through along the
rail,
a bartender on last call,
a waitress pouring me a coffee,
a drunk sleeping in a deserted doorway,
a dog munching a dry bone,
an elephant's **** in a circus tent,
a 6 p.m. freeway crush,
the mailman telling a ***** joke
anything
anything
but
these.
7.7k
Doctor, oh Doctor
doctor, oh doctor, I'm feeling quite sick
have pains everywhere, even in my finger
my tongue is swollen, I can't even lick
my girlfriend replaced me, with a backup singer
doctor, oh doctor, I'm feeling so sore
had all night *** with this old drunken lady
she tossed me around, even down on the floor
don't remember her name, but I called her Katie
doctor, oh doctor, I'm missing a sock
he took down my pants, and looked at my knee
he noticed that I, was wearing a ****
rubbed his chin, and said now let me see
doctor, oh doctor, I have a bad case of gas
he looked in my ears, and looked up my nose
said not to worry, that this would soon pass
now I am getting, cramps in my toes
doctor, oh doctor, I have this urge to spit
my stomach is growling, think I need to eat
my head is throbbing, my shirt is quite wet
sweat pouring off me, even my feet
doctor, oh doctor, why these bruises and cuts
I'm starting to feel, a swelling in my wrist
yes my lady has again, shown me the door
don't know what I did, to get her so ******
doctor, oh doctor, I'm bouncing off walls
do you see anything, wrong with my heart
is it broken again, is that the problem
or do I just need, to cut a big ****
Gomer LePoet...
Jul 19, 2010
Jul 19, 2010 at 6:01 AM UTC
My African culture
Uprooted from my ancestors
And pused on from generation to generation
My African culture- might seem
wied sounds funny or looks like a
**** but these carry alot of benedictions
My African culture tells the story of were we
came from and most probably were we are heading
My African culture describes and names itself
there is really no need for a heading
My African culture the one source of pride and
Joy
My African culture hard to replace yet easy to enjoy
My African culture oh my beautiful culture
my soul screams in joy from the energy of my
people and from the rythm of the African drum my
heart beats
movements degin within my feet
my inner voice telling me to move
in a fleet
I dispiss and dislike a person who
malingers or derides his culture,such
a beautiful thing,such a precious
, Special thing
My African culture tells the true
tells of fallen legends, of great worriors
And of most celebrated heros though
it never varies the tall in the telling
Now that's my Wonderful African culture
Sep 26, 2020
Sep 26, 2020 at 6:13 AM UTC
Being the only one awake in the back seat, or the only one thinking loudly,
and in the back of your mind, sitting there like living weight, you've got
the giant Citgo sign
(you swear you could fit in the T),
listening to passion pit as the golden sun flings itself on the highway,
a construction worker lowering his pants in front of a dumpster,
hearing the sandlot play downstairs as you stare at the dark ceiling,
pizza you ate in the park the evening before now being had for breakfast,
finding out the **** is pro-choice,
getting your shoulder squeezed on a rollercoaster
by a boy who screams like a girl,
feeling drunk even though you're sober,
running through the dark,
passing trailers with round lanterns lining the tops,
outlining shirtless men and smoking women,
looking in the mirror after swimming with your clothes on
in a hot tub,
and you're not sure if you're
beautiful
or
disgusting.
Yeah, you can sleep now.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
The heavy girls are too heavy
The skinny girls are too thin
The **** is perfect
The nerd is a try hard
The fangirl is a freak
The fanboy is gay
The goth girl is a *****
The goth boy is insane
The person who asked for help today just needed a person to talk with
But in today's society we only follow hate and gossip
That skinny girl can't gain wait
That fat girl doesn't know what to do
That **** maybe varsity but he's got problems too
The nerd is poor and wants to go to college and the only way to do that is through a scholarship
The fangirl lives in a fictional world because of the judgmental people in her own
The fanboy does the same and it doesn't matter wheather or not he is straight or gay
The goth girl isn't a ***** she just listens to her music and wears black
The goth boy isn't insane he just wants his happy life back
The person who asked for help today really did need it
But now it's too late for her and now her death has been completed
All of these people could be good or bad but you will never know that
Because in today's society we only follow hate a gossip
So the next time you see a strangers face
Go on say hi and see what they say
Some might stick their noses up and walk away
But for others a stranger being friendly just might make their day.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices.
My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently.
A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness.
A devilish ********** of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance.
Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees.
A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness.
Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily.
Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor.
Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances.
A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks.
A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.)
A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers.
A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive.
A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs.
An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal.
A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats.
A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry.
Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness.
A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly.
Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
I hate you.
You are awkward
and a nerd
and obnoxious
and theatrical
and you always are singing
and judging me.
You are short
and ugly
and weak
and lame
and look like the geek you are.
I am embarrassed to show you to my friends
and embarrassed that I care so much.
and I hate you.
For making me fall for you.
because this is when I should use my youth
to snag the hotties.
Not settle for the nerds.
But its not settling
because you know me
better than the **** ever could
without even trying.
I hate you.
No,
I hate me
for liking you.
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 6:40 PM UTC
bow tie and collars
nice pair of suspenders
buzzcut and braid
wanna get laid?
sex-tuned world
labels all swirled
high level of confusion
doubt and frustration
all the stigma about
sexuality gender who you are
we tell you where you fit
labels aplenty
let me name many
**** *** thot, *****
these and much much more
***** ***** and traitor
see you all later
******* druggie, and ****
nerd, geek, emo, goth
**** ****** loner
crackhead and stoner
athletic and pretty
simple or ****
labels aplenty
go on, take your pick
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 9:14 AM UTC
When I was sophomore in high school I was cut from the volleyball team and I started thinking about what I would do next
I decided to try out for the cheer team for my junior year
When I told people I heard the same two things
But aren’t you in honors classes?
And
But you’re not a *****
my friends I thought would support me were only perplexed by my decision
a friend told me I would be invited to parties
and pressured to date a ****
but they forgot, my best friends forgot
that even though I’d be a cheerleader, I’d still be me
I would still get nervous and talk too much,
I’d still be awkward and angry and sad
I made the team and the next year
In my honors classes people asked “but aren’t you a cheerleader”
When that cute senior invited me to his bedroom that night
I refused and he said “but you’re a cheerleader”
And I did not understand why people could not see past the uniform I wore
I got invited to parties
But I usually went and stayed quiet while everyone else mingled
And sometimes I left early because I felt so alone
I was still awkward and angry and sad
And people still did not understand that even though I was a cheerleader
That I was still me
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
This is an ode to my friends.
For the ones I've loved since day one
the ones I have learnt to love
and for the ones I hate to love.
This is for my friend,
for the one, I got drunk with first.
We stole a litre bottle of cider and four beers then drank them in the park at midnight.
This is an ode to my friend who cries at parties,
who swears he will die alone.
This is for my friend who laughs at every joke,
the **** and comedian but shakes when no one is looking.
This is an ode to my friends,
for the one who's grandma is dying but they
still, manage to draw on a smile and present a joke.
This is for my friend who has depression,
Or the friend who has anxiety,
and asks me to speak for her at restaurants,
This is an ode to my friends,
who is finally taking control of her body
after being trapped in the wrong one.
For the friend who is scared to leave the house
when it's icy because he might slip and hurt his ***
For the friend, I fancied till I was sixteen,
and even though it's been years my lips still burn when
I look at her.
This is an ode to my friends who leave me out of conversations.
who have inside jokes they sprout when I'm around
This is for the ones that went to the movies to see the film they knew I was dying to see.
This is an ode to my friend,
who broke her leg whilst dancing in her favourite musical,
and the part was given to someone else.
This is for the friend whose mother died when she was 12
but she remains the strongest person ever.
This is an ode to those who
forget I'm their friend,
who ignore me when they're upset,
who tell me daily that they love me,
who cry at Disney movies,
who laugh at videos of past times,
who I hate that I adore,
who I cry over,
because I can't make them happy anymore.
This is an ode to my friends,
for the one who is so self-conscious, he wears baggy jumpers to hide his stomach.
This is an ode to my friend who has scary parents,
for the friends who made a pyramid out of stones and raised a nation,
for the friends who try their hardest and still achieve nothing,
for my friends the world has seemingly forgotten,
This is an Ode to my friends,
the ones I know I will die loving,
they give me cups of tea with two sugars when I'm having a bad episode,
for the ones that cry when they hear a certain song, because it reminds them of when I tried to off myself in the toilet,
for the one that has never had a kiss,
for the one who refuses to get married.
This is an ode to my friends,
the family I chose,
the ones that send me stupid messages at four am,
then question why I'm awake so late.
For the friend that gets blackout drunk,
for the one with weak knees,
who, when she laughs, falls to the ground in a fit of giggles,
for the friends, I will marry, loving.
Speak now or forever hold your peace,
An ode to my friends,
who I love more than anything,
as we collapse through the stars,
I'll hear them laughing at a joke.
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 6:53 PM UTC
When I saw him in class he had his head bent down
In the farthest corner of the room
With a leather coat and a crooked smile
That was all I needed to swoon
He’s not a **** or the lead in the play
But he’s got a Harley and he swept me away
And the girls all think they can get to his heart
But they don’t even know where to start
(‘Cause all they know is)
That he looks so fine, yeah he looks so fine
But they don’t know that he’s already mine
Yeah he picked me out from the misfit crowd
And someday we’re gonna get outta this town
He looks so fine, he looks so fine
And the time we spent was sublime
When he asked me to prom all the girls were surprised
They watched as he looked me right in the eyes
How silly that they thought they stood a chance
To get him to take them to the dance
He knocked on the door at 7:04
I answered in a periwinkle dress
And he smiled at me in a new black tux
(What a fox!)
And you can guess the rest
(‘Cause all you know is)
That he looks so fine, yeah he looks so fine
And now you know that he’s already mine
Yeah he picked me out from the misfit crowd
And someday we’re gonna get outta this town
He looks so fine, yeah he looks so fine
And the time we spent was sublime
Dec 1, 2010
Dec 1, 2010 at 8:28 PM UTC
There were flashing lights,
lasers, where we met.
There was loud music
and cheap drinks.
I found myself with the three of you,
only one of whom I'd met before.
That was the year I only wore plaid, mostly.
I was protesting make up at the time,
a leftover idea from my two year flowerchild period.
You were arrogant as ever,
self involved ****
with great taste in music.
I remember in all the conversations that followed
you'd compliment my impeccably perfect playlists.
I digress.
You stayed away from me that night,
let me hit on your friends.
But you got me that shirt.
I still wear it.
I had forgotten that night for over a year.
Even when I saw you next,
I didn't remember you.
I didn't remember you
and that has always bothered me.
I don't forget people.
I just don't.
Especially since it was both our first night out with that crowd.
You remembered me though.
And I'll never know why
I forgot and you remembered.
But now you forget me,
and I never shall forget you.
I promise you I'll never forget you.
And if you recall,
I don't break my promises to those I love.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
How badly I want to be in that
John Hughes film
I want the cheesy romance
That reeks of tears for fears
And looks like the **** or geek or criminal
That sixteen candle
Sitting on your 944 porche
With the credits rolling up kind of romance
Please leave your notebook at home
Locked up with a vow you don't remeber.
I want that weird science kind of chemistry
A day off involving you
I can look pretty in pink
I can look pretty in Hughes of you.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
Look in the mirror and what do you see?
The same gleaming girl, who anyone could be?
A boy with bruises, everyone fails to see?
Or a 'jock' who's home life is shrouded in secrecy?
How about a girl, with a painted on smile?
Who's silent cries for help could be heard for miles.
The scars on her wrist are all just a part,
Of healing the gashes all over her heart.
11/11 rolls around,
All she wishes for is one less pound
Picks at the food she was given for dinner,
Hoping one day she'll finally be thinner.
She cries over that guy she thinks about,
Who'd kiss her in private but never take her out.
She is manipulated day by day.
She knows this part but, of course, she stays.
Everything he says to her, makes her sore,
But somethings he says just make her heart warm
She'll never be good enough for that boy or her peers.
If she isn't good enough for that girl in the mirror.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 2:07 AM UTC
Bang bang
**** ****
Aw ****
I work it through a hose
and **** out the deluge
Cardboard houses
and razor **** straps
And my eye is dilating
as my heart races
I explode in a rage
Of wind and acid
A blow tube in my vein
A blackened eye
A cigarette between two lips
A train exiting the station
'All aboard!
**** **** yeah!
I do k-k-k ******* and k-k-k crystal **** and k-k-k ******
Blasphemous cheese
Black holes
Brown eyes
Poopie trim
Unwinding ecstacy
Driven by speed anger and vengeance
Running behind the booming
Urination of oil and sludge
From my tail pipe
Blue Velvet
Black cake
Purple hoses
Red tubing
Nose bleed
Big cheese
**** me
Venom
Cruelty
Sage wisdom
Magic sage
Marijuana
Marijuana
Marijuana
I am not jesus
I am just a ******
I am just a ******
I am just a creep
a ******
a cheat
a lie
a ****
a cheap little ****
****
**** away.
Blow up!
AHHHHHHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
All play and no work makes Jackie boy lazy.
Rage
Rage
Death
End this brain flow!
BANG!
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 8:33 AM UTC
Cat call in the distance at three am
Someone far away is hot
And someone far away is *****
Decisions made with beer goggles
As you half-sleep in a bubbly, pleasant haze
There’s more evidence for evolution
Than skeletons and theories
I think as I hear a college girl
Shriek just like a chimpanzee
Below on Spruce Street
Far away noises sound so close
They are inside my tiny flat
Invading
How frightening it would be to venture outside so late
On a saturday night
And soak up the stupidity
Violence at the slightest provocation
Passive-aggressive friendliness
Walk past a bar
Would I make it home alive?
The city lights cast a morning glow
on the trees and the now-grey sky
It looks as if the sun is rising
But, no, I’m still here in my warm, fluffy bed
Half-asleep, half-awake like most nights
When will I escape this vampire’s schedule?
I long for the early mornings of my youth
Seven am, the darkness lingering
Birds chirping, parents yelling,
Reading on the school bus
Innocence, naïveté, thinking life was so difficult then
But it wasn’t
That was just the beginning
The **** population skyrockets after two am
Because nothing good happens then
Birds, maybe robins, singing at four am
Everything is backwards at this hour
And so much more frightening
Terrified of even leaving my room
Down the dark, empty hallway
Maybe I’m just jealous
I wish I had some friends to be stupid and drunk with
Some men and boys too
Even just some alcohol
A cold glass of beer
To help me sleep
To taste
So bubbly and bittersweet
Pop with a punch
I must imagine my glass of water as a mug of beer
And hope...
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 5:33 PM UTC
I’m not an object
And I am tired
Of always being played
May 17, 2019
May 17, 2019 at 8:13 AM UTC
I sat nursing a overpriced draft in a underated dive
in Carolina.
I won't go into the details of it's location.
I won't be there by the time of anyone reading this.
And moments are just that and best left alone.
It was a empty bar .
Only me and the bartender and we weren't here for conversation.
I was avoiding the heat and like some B movie vampire in his coffin.
I found no need to view the light only burn my night world existence.
I never really liked bars much.
The people were pretty much the same social circle rejects and broken
highschool hero's who relived glory one beer at a time.
They always hated the jukebox .
Me I preferred a good song over some far fetched lie
about how some **** ******* saved the game.
Honestly I enjoyed a good drink and some even better music.
As well as the night's silence.
Simple people hate silence.
It forces them to think.
And thinking is a dangerous task for a halfwit.
Course I had to escape my hermit existence sometimes.
Air out my stale thoughts at least for awhile.
I sat there spending what little I never truly had to begin with.
Semi cold beer and smoke the perfume of my thoughts.
I shared only with the wasted page.
Hey mind turning on the jukebox?
I asked the silent man sitting across the bar.
It's broke he said and nothing more.
Well seems me and that machine have something in common.
Sometimes stepping outside seemed like a good idea.
Until you realize outside is filled with a bunch of annoying ******
I never went back to that dive although I hear the jukebox was later
replaced .
With some game that sat at the end of the bar like some idiot box microwave.
Still I think it has more personality than that bartender .
Course I believe at abuck a play it's overrated to begin with.
Cheers.
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 10:53 PM UTC
When I was stationed at Enoggera, as a young platoon sergeant with 9 RAR, a Merino ram was offered, and accepted, as the Battalion mascot. The diggers called him Stan. The brigade RSM of the time was outraged because he viewed our adoption of Stan as a direct and improper play on his surname, which was Lamb. And, of course, he being as bald as a coot the diggers called him Curly. As I recall, Stan was a lively, ill disciplined beast with little respect for the niceties of service life, hence:
When Stan-the-Ram met Curly Lamb a fracas did ensue.
For Curly stood beside the road just outside B.H.Q.;
His Sam Brown belt so shiny, his pace-stick 'neath one arm,
The RSM of our brigade was used to war's alarm.
But Stan, although a raw recruit and barely chewing grass,
Unimpressed by Curly, charged and knocked him on his ****
"It's contact rear" cried Curly, as he struggled to his feet,
Turned about with arms akimbo his assailant for to meet.
Meanwhile Stan's poor handler looked ready to desert
'cos Stan-the-Ram whilst in his care had Curly eating dirt.
I guess he felt embarrassed, which was natural, wouldn't you?
If involved in such a fracas outside of BHQ.
Your questions are but natural and in answer I can swear,
As these events unfolded I was marching off the square.
Having Just dismissed defaulters I was feeling rather mean
But my despondency was lifted by that ****** glorious scene.
And in the mess that evening rang out laughter clear and loud,
For I'd told them all my story and of Stan we felt quite proud.
There was Sutherland and Massingham, and Peter Cowan too
And Tim Daly called **** Gordon from his room, well, wouldn't you?
And when **** heard my story he poured port into a glass,
And we drank a toast to Stanly putting Curly on his ****
Mar 10, 2019
Mar 10, 2019 at 1:45 AM UTC