stackmatic wrote:

steve wrote:Time be tick-tockin'

Time be tick-tockin'
Grif' be Matlockin'



note: Grif' = Andy Griffith

Grif' be 7th Oct'in'?



note: Grif' = Professor Griff

YO, YOU FUNNY-ASSED WHIGGER, GET THE HELL OUT OF MY BUMP.














sorry about the yellin' fellers( geeky-faced emoticon)

Mrdfnle,

You're lucky it's impossible to tell how many syllables are in your name, or your mom would be next.

XOXO,
LvP

my mom she ho'
she tellya so
she stand on her head an' the jizzle just flo'

Bitches talkin' about Mrs. McGoo
Makin' up rumors bout her doin' your crew.
Can it, Brett, this tale of your last sexual doing
My moms wasn't born
When your team was hearin' booin'.
Your locker room dream
Bouts makin the cream
Is really bout making those other ballers scream.

And my mom's no whore like old lady Van Pelt,
Who wore out her knees from
All the times she knelt
Blowin' Mr. Ralph, who pretended she a man
Her ass so hairy, he a real big fan.
Her fishy snatch will blow out your sinus
And that's the same stink that stick to Linus
Who would come home from school
To see her smirkin'
As yet another "dad" took off her merkin.

But it was only Mr. Razi
Who could end to the perpetual dryness
That haunts the crotch of ol Mrs. Linus.
He moans so loud she thinks she's the bomb
But anything feels tight after Faiz's mom.

Brett Eugene Ralph wrote:Kerble's and Itchy's moms were stone double-teamin'
My man Brett Eugene--they wanted his semen
So they gobbled de goop, the volume of creamin'
Like a whole can of Redi-Whip; they thought they was dreamin'
Then BER brought the whole football team in
Middle-aged men he'd played ball in school with
Missus Kerble and Itchy also wanted their Cool Whip
We was all gettin' blown up like only a soldier can
Moms opened they mouths 'bout as wide as a Folger's can
They took us 'round the world, all the way to Uzbekistan
And said, "No one pumps clumps like BER's testes can."

Mrs. Ralph -- on your crotch -- that growth is malignant!
Since I'm stuffing your dumphole, I'm not too indignant
(Dude, what an oinker. Can't tell what that pig meant)

Man, talk about football- your mom's down on Beano
And the "Lucky Pierre" is your guy Rick Pitino
Oh, those varicose veins make Col. Sanders insanes
That big blue ass in the dead blue grass
Yo, we're checking your mom with our sticks just like hockey
Once more 'fore she heads to Churchill for some jockey
Rounding up bums like Wonder Woman with her lariat
But the stud that she really pines for is Secretariat.

Angus Jung wrote:

Brett Eugene Ralph wrote:Kerble's and Itchy's moms were stone double-teamin'
My man Brett Eugene--they wanted his semen
So they gobbled de goop, the volume of creamin'
Like a whole can of Redi-Whip; they thought they was dreamin'
Then BER brought the whole football team in
Middle-aged men he'd played ball in school with
Missus Kerble and Itchy also wanted their Cool Whip
We was all gettin' blown up like only a soldier can
Moms opened they mouths 'bout as wide as a Folger's can
They took us 'round the world, all the way to Uzbekistan
And said, "No one pumps clumps like BER's testes can."

Mrs. Ralph -- on your crotch -- that growth is malignant!
Since I'm stuffing your dumphole, I'm not too indignant
(Dude, what an oinker. Can't tell what that pig meant)

Man, talk about football- your mom's down on Beano
And the "Lucky Pierre" is your guy Rick Pitino
Oh, those varicose veins make Col. Sanders insanes
That big blue ass in the dead blue grass
Yo, we're checking your mom with our sticks just like hockey
Once more 'fore she heads to Churchill for some jockey
Rounding up bums like Wonder Woman with her lariat
But the stud that she really pines for is Secretariat.

Not bad, not bad. But you don't know who you're fucking with. Case in point:

Here's a story 'bout the mother of Angus Jung
Pulled a train on ten brothers dang'rously hung
They went in through the out door--that's right, the bung
Then they pulled out their ding dongs all dripping with dung
But the bitch hadn't finished nor the fat lady sung
With lips that a whole nest of hornets had stung
She swallowed those lads' ladders down to the last rung
(One of them feared that he'd punctured her lung)
She didn't stop till she'd serviced each brother they'd brung
Everybody had more fun that night than Wang Chung!

my "last name" here is my band's name (albeit three separate words...) it was placeholder's idea...it's from a King Diamond song...i like it a lot...VERY NOT CRAP...

it came to us like mana from heaven after like a year or two of not being able to decide on a band name...we had a few mediocre ones that stuck for brief spells...so we wouldn't have settled on it if it wasn't "perfect"...as it stands i think the name's perfect...

Brett Eugene Ralph wrote:

Angus Jung wrote:

Brett Eugene Ralph wrote:Kerble's and Itchy's moms were stone double-teamin'
My man Brett Eugene--they wanted his semen
So they gobbled de goop, the volume of creamin'
Like a whole can of Redi-Whip; they thought they was dreamin'
Then BER brought the whole football team in
Middle-aged men he'd played ball in school with
Missus Kerble and Itchy also wanted their Cool Whip
We was all gettin' blown up like only a soldier can
Moms opened they mouths 'bout as wide as a Folger's can
They took us 'round the world, all the way to Uzbekistan
And said, "No one pumps clumps like BER's testes can."

Mrs. Ralph -- on your crotch -- that growth is malignant!
Since I'm stuffing your dumphole, I'm not too indignant
(Dude, what an oinker. Can't tell what that pig meant)

Man, talk about football- your mom's down on Beano
And the "Lucky Pierre" is your guy Rick Pitino
Oh, those varicose veins make Col. Sanders insanes
That big blue ass in the dead blue grass
Yo, we're checking your mom with our sticks just like hockey
Once more 'fore she heads to Churchill for some jockey
Rounding up bums like Wonder Woman with her lariat
But the stud that she really pines for is Secretariat.

Not bad, not bad. But you don't know who you're fucking with. Case in point:

Here's a story 'bout the mother of Angus Jung
Pulled a train on ten brothers dang'rously hung
They went in through the out door--that's right, the bung
Then they pulled out their ding dongs all dripping with dung
But the bitch hadn't finished nor the fat lady sung
With lips that a whole nest of hornets had stung
She swallowed those lads' ladders down to the last rung
(One of them feared that he'd punctured her lung)
She didn't stop till she'd serviced each brother they'd brung
Everybody had more fun that night than Wang Chung!

without plastic on my staff,
I would'a caught some Staph
when I undid my fly and boned Mrs. Ralph
It's not Ralph cause cause of kin
but 'cause I puked myself ag'in
I'm stuck in the Cuntstucky
with the stanky quim
I got a gas mask
and two pounds of hash
that'll muffle the funk
comin' out of her gash
speakin' of 'you gene'
when she flicks my stick
It's not a family tree
but a family helix

Jung, I'm not the one payin' Mony for punany
I made an orphan of ya like little oral Annie
but they call me poonjab cause my turban's disturbin'
momma's drivin' a van, cold-swervin'-cold Kerbin'
like a gaggle of geese, she's takin' out her false teeth
and gaggin' up on my duck leavin' grease in the crease

the heinous heinie VanPelt
is both smelt and dealt
leavin slick skid-marks on the chastity belt
but I got the swift cock
that'll bust up the lock
to hit the finest vaginus, Liinus

shyness.

Y'all baggin on Brett's mom
but she loves her son
and he'll come cryin' to her
to get wrapped by her arm
when them vertebrae slip
they don't have to slip far
'fore it's too goddamn painful
to even sit in the car
so they walk, no they hobble
down the goddamn sidewalk
a mile and a quarter to
see some goddamn doc
"Momma, I'm dyin.' I can't barely stand."
"Don't worry, son. Here, take hold of my hand."
So Brett's momma' got heart
for her crippled young son
and I won't hear no bullshit
fuck-fantasy from anyone.