Read Time:43 Second [For Your Beating Pleasure]
Someone take me back to that broom-jumping hall
Because when I run-off, I know I won’t be caught

You jewel a knuckle with precious gold
But the soul, you tattoo with hurt at every crow
My love, my master, and foe

This really dark glasses
The proof of your love undying
It hates not just the innocent sun
But the mass of bile in your guts

A mighty collar for your kitten’s paw
And a great ego to gag your conscience’ tongue
That’s the picture on the refrigerator door

Someone get some yellow tapes for my baggaged lawn
And a double roll for my soul’s battered core
For I live for your beating pleasure.

Written by: Honeyhammer Ohgirliekevwe NayummyRealmuch
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson

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