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I'm hungry, hurt multiple times, sick, procrastinating, battered bruised, hardly ever amused, thinking of migrating, the heats to thick cannot move without perspirating.
I'll eat some crackers and wash my mouf outwit listerine. That stuff is harsh but now comes in tangerine.

Drive full blast the stereo and air please, down to the doctor to help with my disease. He said I cannot help you with the voices in your head, or the feeling that you'd be better off dead. I can give you four pills, one to help your dick up, one for the dizzy spells, two more to ease the chills. So what if you are underemployed, or hardly like the company of those who you once enjoyed, you can still beat off, and stand up in the breadline.