Plenty to here's to, but nothing to here's with A couple of drops, and now she's told "This is a dry county" So she shot him Dry air and dryer spit. Bound on a track because she's bound to be trouble. Lime green nails go well with drinks that go with similar citruses There'ren't any heroes. They'd only be villains if they came to her arm Had their way There's a train. Self preservation aligns to run the track and twisted in a knot City lights. Traffic lights. Car lights. Head lights. Back lights. Night lights. Flood lights. Flesh lights. With cred to Fairlight It knocks the living daylights out
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