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My coffin? Nailed.
My bulls? On parade
Your goose being cooked is a bad thing though?
hey everyone look at salmonella tom here likes his goose raw
I like my geese free and thriving
they will be free to thrive in my belly.
Hotel? Trivago.
My slugs? Salted.
your milk?
Uncried over?
Lapped up
My shit? Worked out.
Lucky birds
How you gonna write all that and forget about horses
Your jimmies? Rustled.
That bridge? Reached & crossed.
Reached, crossed, and burned down.
I misread the instructions and burned mine. I was soo close to getting the full list right.
Eh, water under the place-where-the-bridge-used-to-be.
You didn’t have the courage to write “came to.” 🌉 🥵
And under that bridge? Water.
And out of that water? A fish.
And into a frying pan I presume
Briefly, before going into the fire.
Well look at Mr Many Baskets. I keep mine all in one, much more efficient and nothing can possibly go wrong. Surely.
My monkeys? in a barrel.
With the fish that you shot?
My monkeys? Brassed.
My monkey? Spanked.
Your cold Medina? Funkied.
Funky.
town
barreled?
My cannon? Loose. My boat? Rocked. (Because of the loose cannon.)
My worm, eaten.
I’m having way too much fun with this
Temba, his arms wide.
Lemmy, the comments posted.
my mom’s face, stepped on.
My rocks, thrown.
