Some call me a Maestro. Arson. Give you a light show. Spark grids. I get sort of hyper when exposed. The nights so dark. Grab a rhino. That's not a typo. It's Awkward. Kimbo Slice your arm. With pin poked knife hole targets. I'm blown. I could guard 5 cloned Jordans. Eyes closed. Offset, play him iso. Do the tongue lick sideshow. While I blow by and fingeroll. A goldmine. My minds gold. A mistletoe just below the belt. It'll be like Christmas' home. Immortal stealth. My mid-section transforms itself into a portal. So most doctors that warble call me abnormal. Hock verbal water. Top dollar oral vomit. Melt. It's new world order. Belt your quarter ounce. Circle around with a cordial shelf. Metaphoral welts form around your mouth when I warp a pelting roundhouse to deform your health. My head doesn't implode. From Antidepressants. I wish Valium growed on plants. I'm expressive. Work for Geico, and come on the Progressive chick with 15% of my dressing. I'm excellent when it comes to electric type. Uranium. hand tying synthetics to land-mine rigged radiums. It's asinine, when I laser-eye your photoreceptors through your diaphragm and retinal vascular aperture. Asshole, vastly eclectic when he handles your henchmen. Disparaging sentences through aerial essence.
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