Christmas is coming. CHRISTMAS IS COMING. Take me out the fountain, take me, take me. Take me out the counting. Count me. Count me. That's my best song I sing the. Zogie bera.
Will you sing with me now? While you kiss, smooth, the Britton tale?
Everyone except you, will make it to the baseball game tonight. Where will you go? Who knows. But you're not invited. I, Chove, has decided that hats are the number one rule in the game so you have no hate so you are not a hat man (secret's out: we're going to be doing the electric slide at the party and Wiggly Woo is going to be there too).
So cry about that, mister nugget. Go live your American dream while we Wiggly our Woos.
"No horses allowed," said the secutiry secret dec security guard.
I was wrapped around Britton's neck.
"He's dead, it's a scarf," snapped Britton, then his legs collapsed to prove that I was dead and wouldn't try to catch us.
"Fair," chimed in Security Guard Standley. Stand in Lee.
"I just saw him blink!" said the first.
And that's when it all fell apart.
We're never allowed to go back to the hotel extra grands now.
Pop pop pop hop.
Pop pop.
So pop pop.
So, Becky.
That's so Becky.
What is wrong with Becky.
Britton's going to join radiology school and leave the farm and I don't know what to do I just want to go with Brittttttton he cant ride me around like a stallion steed I am but he doesn't want to he just wants to go to school and earn the big bucks after I buck him off.
Mother horse would be proud.
Today the pigs told me that I'm fat. So I said, "Irony at its finest."
Now I have mud on my bum.
