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"kleen" poems
I'm dreaming of a green Christmas Just like the ones I used to know Where the kush plants glisten, and reggae bawts listen To smell, burning kush all day I'm dreaming of a green Christmas With every ***** blunt I roll May your days be reggae and kleen And may all your Christmases be green
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Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 9:15 AM UTC
Green Christmas
That curvy, **** body Can't keep my hands off you That smoldering, maroon rouge Keeps my eyes riveted on you That ample, splayed mouth of yours Allows me to swallow out that life giving liquid That immense, cavernous cavity That keeps in whatever I fill you up with I may be rough with you But I'll always love you My Kleen Kanteen
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May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
Can't keep my hands off you
Tidy kleen Ma hair gleams Ma boy seems Likke just a dream But I love him He make me melt I guess I shuld kuntinue To give him myself Dis momma don play, Dis momma will stay Even if I mess up wit him Dis momma is OK And today I will be his womans, Bekause I'm real momma And baby boy know it. Even if baby boy don't wan me This baby girl to him Wil show it.
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Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC
Ma baby boy
The actual advertisement in “Ireland’s Own” Men Seeking Women columns read as follows:  "Lone farmer – Born on Christmas Day - solvent - Has traditional values - Seeks a hefty lady from 40 upwards - Photographs exchanged. Kilmacat, Limerick 00649280942" A Christmas Card with photo arrives. The farmer gets a call... Hefty Lady: Happy Birthday! What are your cows like? Farmer: Funny you should ask - they are known as laughing stock. Unable to produce young. Anti-bull. HL:  Can you promise there will no secrets between us? F: Can’t say for sure. The potatoes have eyes, the corn has ears. HL: My photo makes me look like the Venus de Milo. F: I noticed. You've got no arms. You won't do. I need a heavy lifter. HL: My arms are out of the photo because I’m lifting.. F: What weight are you lifting? HL: 128 kilos  - Kleen & ******  – world record. F: Is that the name of a tractor? HL: Nien! F: What’s your name? HL: Bertha Eva Tunne. Farmer: I want to see your calves. Hefty Lady: I will bring them with me. Farmer: Happy Christmas! The plane tickets are in the post. Tobias
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Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 9:02 AM UTC
WHAT THE FARMER WANTS