Little girls going overtime into big milk befitting a dang good time, okay, that’s your taste. Little mammals no milk to sip, a Prince, the Queen’s young son, ill positioned, needing anyone.
I can use you secretary, I love Mannahattas, not wanting to die, or drown, in respite. I see you on a desert isle,
I hope it ain’t Little Saint James, that’s a shell games, Israel nugget, refine.
Spam of Human Affection 
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