Cannbe Me In Here
The Sound Of My HeadinnAZy izzazz sanme as the ruthless trewth from Texass.
I um lyking muchly the hit. They’re rollin’, eyem ridin’, the hit & the hittin’.
Sum simil’tude: the changelingibility, the ‘noya (thoiss nought all paranoir: gaht puld over thisporning as a matter a fat . . . them oh mints sigh relish: “How’re you this morning?” says blackmanonbarrellchest. “A little fast, I guess.” I’m just microaltitudinally short of kite high. List(n)ing to NPR tropple off enough reason, restraint, and responsibility to rubboff. He let me (get) off. Flushback to those suberelfKant’sitchness mousing my may through the mhaze of thoel argtch Youro bain(k). Then ex won kane toodey attas toreye were cat,raining you man onus tray near dogs. S’iam easily duck rappiest each…er…indy place. Nawai’didal rite.

All sown joyin Lil Jon’s “Snap Yo Fingers,” thoh it offers no convirgince faux uh po’ why boy lie Kmi.