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I'm rubber.
You're glue.
Whatever, I say.
Fuck you.

I fucked you.
You fucked me.
Should we now,
sit and have tea?

Gotta have a smoke first then put away the bone.
This old man can't find his phone.

Got that right.
You're as old as the hills.
I'll go back to counting my dollar bills

Bling bling and a little cha-ching is the song you sing but I thought to bring some shit to fling and then forgot the thing.

Aint no thing I cant wear as a ring even with my arm in a sling from flinging too much string

Supplying the never drying pool of rhyming with shit that goes 'ing' is stabbing me and borderline maddening.