The tide seized us and swept us along, and in the races where this happened there were sucking whirlpools, strong enough to twist us round.

Bleeding at heart is he Who has to ask For food at every mealtide.

So keep talking all that fly shit, and I’ma grab the tool And the lead will get stuck in your head like a catchy tune Soon as I look down on a target, bitch, your ass is doomed Trust exercise with Ahdi, arms out to catch a boom You see this sweeper I got, it ain’t your average broom This ring will wet this bitch like a happy groom

He scorned my wholesome kennel fare, toothing out dainties and leaving the grosser portions to be finished by the other dogs.