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Kenny eye've been told that 8 million people live in New York, so why in the hell do i keep running into you on the street of used books, water-resistant watches and steak shish kabobs you keep popping up in my dreams fat naked, and snoring. saying in your British accent, "let me inside you." you're stuck to my thoughts like bubble gum & eye'm trying to scrape you off the alligator shoe of my fantasies, but it's the piercing in the head of your cock that keeps snagging on the belt loop of my jeans. eye refuse to see this shit as a sign. some meaning that we were meant to be together. eye will not be suckered into believing that you are my Mr. Right, my fuckin' Knight in black combat boots. Sister Fay, My personal palm reader says, my man has soft lips & dreadlocks. you've got an ear ring through your dick and a buzz cut haircut 8 million people in this city, and all I get is in e-mail saying you saw me in the bar and was going to say hi, but I left before you could make your move of course i think your fulla shit i'm just the 61st man in your little black book eye'll get you outta my head yet, if i have to cut it open and wash my brain out with holy water.
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