It’s hopeless
Texaco blues in the tote then down my throat
She stirs my glad glands, tropic
Tropic of cancer, tropic of capricorn
The horn she gives me, it’s like all the world’s porn
Is playing at once, I can barely keep the cum in my horn; hornucopia
Shagging all morning; if I was born today, I’d gladly die this evening at 8
After that roll in the hay, I’m beyond sated
What a roll in the hay, hey.
Alchemisland 
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