Gas plug. Ain’t We Dirty? Her, I don't know if we're meant to be together. I'm Sorry. That came up later. Goodyear Tire. I'm getting somewhere.
Where
Get
Goodyear Tire
Up
Together
Meant
We
Know
I
We
Plug
Gas
I write a combination of prose and song that narrate preserving cultural dialect and heritage between him and her.
Mouth. Teeth. Wisdom. I might value these. Don't look at him. What is your name? I'm sorry. Happy Lunch Day. Copenhagen. The night w...
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