Tim Lincecums last name has the word cums in it.

Zombie · 08-31-2013, 03:40 AM

@PancakeBrah

Who twists prisms? His heads spinning. Text written in acid
Pick up pencils. Like granite. When his wrist schisms in fragments
I'm Tim Lincecums, fast pitch. My visual field streams digital binary
Your team? Pictured bitches, like the depiction in yield signs
Evilness moves. Yeah, -theories included. From Jesus' Jerusalem
Drooling steam of Vesuvius. Incinerate' sheets of aluminum
Tai-Chi clever. Siamese letters written in this Pure demons' blotchy past
Alone In his domicile. playing Chinese checkers with Voorhees' hockey mask
Corpse season. Eyes sore. Apply mode of ethics.
In a ice storm, I form, a bionormal metric.
And I'm lone. Cry more, My knives holster' beckons.
And then I grow, five horns. It is now Gods Armageddon.
Life force is wretched. Sifting through my minds mortal essence
Fuse-burning my arms, using cyborg genetics
Consquence'll catapult. Populace. Build Castle with bricks
Godly flesh, laced with grapplin hooks' like Michaelangelo is
Flammable lips. One slip from my tongue' I'm hardly provoking.
Hollow the oceans. Swallow the chakra from lava and molten
Evolve into Vulcan. The Dalai Lama of cokeheads.
Prophet has spoken. Unparalleled. Embody the flesh of the Pharaohs throne
Jurassic prone. Ensnaring. Arrows fletched in from melted bone
Barrel-Chested. Creeks frozen, I stream with my clean woven muscle
Breath slowly. Release. reach for breach-loaded buckles
Repeat. Please. Mostly humble.
His heads weak. Progressing. I empty blood off streets
With a leg piece. That unleashes deadly m3 sub-machines
Say my name. Or instead in a closed casket. You should expect choirs
A flaming torch directors tadbit. Coming into Direct; fire
Get handed a loss. Cast a shadow on the shadows on the shadows you box,
In a tundra. Receiving a ton of entèndre shots, like Randy Moss'ing the Malitovs
Respond slowly. The next spoken second'll be a odd-moment.
Your head Honchos toast. Launching Gods'-woven crossbow-bolts
Layer the ozone. I couldn't make half a chick with you pile of divas
It's Stone Cold Texas Murder. In Austin Rockin' you Johnny Cenas
You'd probably cough up a jug of semen.
I'm beat-boxing with Link and his Ocarina
Notebook entry. Journalist verse. "The serpent-bite has hurt my synapses"
Purple dipped tourniquets. Temperature - just perfect, with thermodynamics
The elements. A veteran touch. Over pernicious incensements'
Embedded delicate gun holsters. With the prints' in Leopard skin

08-31-2013, 03:40 AM	#1
Zombie Senior Member Join Date: Apr 2013 Posts: 125 Battle Record: 5-0 Champed - Art of Writing League Rep Power: 2645340	Tim Lincecums last name has the word cums in it. @PancakeBrah Who twists prisms? His heads spinning. Text written in acid Pick up pencils. Like granite. When his wrist schisms in fragments I'm Tim Lincecums, fast pitch. My visual field streams digital binary Your team? Pictured bitches, like the depiction in yield signs Evilness moves. Yeah, -theories included. From Jesus' Jerusalem Drooling steam of Vesuvius. Incinerate' sheets of aluminum Tai-Chi clever. Siamese letters written in this Pure demons' blotchy past Alone In his domicile. playing Chinese checkers with Voorhees' hockey mask Corpse season. Eyes sore. Apply mode of ethics. In a ice storm, I form, a bionormal metric. And I'm lone. Cry more, My knives holster' beckons. And then I grow, five horns. It is now Gods Armageddon. Life force is wretched. Sifting through my minds mortal essence Fuse-burning my arms, using cyborg genetics Consquence'll catapult. Populace. Build Castle with bricks Godly flesh, laced with grapplin hooks' like Michaelangelo is Flammable lips. One slip from my tongue' I'm hardly provoking. Hollow the oceans. Swallow the chakra from lava and molten Evolve into Vulcan. The Dalai Lama of cokeheads. Prophet has spoken. Unparalleled. Embody the flesh of the Pharaohs throne Jurassic prone. Ensnaring. Arrows fletched in from melted bone Barrel-Chested. Creeks frozen, I stream with my clean woven muscle Breath slowly. Release. reach for breach-loaded buckles Repeat. Please. Mostly humble. His heads weak. Progressing. I empty blood off streets With a leg piece. That unleashes deadly m3 sub-machines Say my name. Or instead in a closed casket. You should expect choirs A flaming torch directors tadbit. Coming into Direct; fire Get handed a loss. Cast a shadow on the shadows on the shadows you box, In a tundra. Receiving a ton of entèndre shots, like Randy Moss'ing the Malitovs Respond slowly. The next spoken second'll be a odd-moment. Your head Honchos toast. Launching Gods'-woven crossbow-bolts Layer the ozone. I couldn't make half a chick with you pile of divas It's Stone Cold Texas Murder. In Austin Rockin' you Johnny Cenas You'd probably cough up a jug of semen. I'm beat-boxing with Link and his Ocarina Notebook entry. Journalist verse. "The serpent-bite has hurt my synapses" Purple dipped tourniquets. Temperature - just perfect, with thermodynamics The elements. A veteran touch. Over pernicious incensements' Embedded delicate gun holsters. With the prints' in Leopard skin Last edited by Zombie; 08-31-2013 at 03:52 AM.