A seasoned veteran of the drug world, the Pyrex God isn’t here to water down his lyrics for no one. “Trap phone, gun at your backbone / Graduated from the corner where the crack’s grown,” he rhymes.

You will by this time think I am in love with her; so before I go any further I will tell you I am not — she kept me awake one Night as a tune of Mozart's might do — I speak of the thing as a passtime and an amuzement than which I can feel none deeper than a conversation with an imperial woman the very ‘yes’ and ‘no’ of whose Lips is to me a Banquet.

Vernacular architecture scholars have increasingly studied the products of automobile tourism, although often with a wink of the eye or with tongue planted in cheek.

Almost anything decoratable can be used as a base and the list of things to cut out is endless.