Laid, into my Cup, Dhaka

Broadway was a plaid, way, and the scream of a bag pipe, coming on long, as if a young, surname YOUNG, surname MADDEN, and a signal up and coming, and kink, knick, you owed your older brother,

Broadway was played, way, dressed in tartan, dressed in plaid, white wool of black afro, on a knickabocca, Boca Rotan, knickerbocker, a mainly Italian

Who loves a mother, a Britain,

Goes down to a oak as if Marly Tyler Moore, went into a counter of sweets, getcha summa ma honey live repleats, from a distinguihsed school, kid honoring a baba and concrete says to mama, east side west side, all round the meryyi — yea,

Bob Marly arapaho, enchained, within the exclaim of money jobbers, Steve Jobbers, at the gates of Hell, the Bill Gates of arapaho, a young kid, touching hunger, with a dainty toe and finger, old age, with– RAM? Hope it ain’t ROM!

Young kid, hardly old enough to bluff a puff a barley and a gander, TV through a blender, to render, a water color, ya ya ha ha,

A sweet song, so young, Mickey Mantle, of greatness, of Yankee Stadium, redux, a profusion of love, yeah been high been to support to song as a bastion, all night all night leite motiff, all nigh all nigh clit, hit it,

You mess with me prince you mother fucker, falsely accused.