twenty-five twenty-ten/minus eighteen, not to be read aloud

Fat-burn, pat-down, motorcycle, carpet bag,
stopping at this kid would really be too good to be true.

We still need the bergamot but our joints are all buttered into their sockets now, not trying so much to "BOY BANDIT HAS PIZZAS DELIVERED TO EDGE OF FOREST!"

Still in love with all the old whistles, just a little less embarrassed by it now, I'm sorry I said you were tough.