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By: Juli Monat

Page 1, No one better tahn screw you.


Son, you son of a gun, now that is done

who told you

that you can't be a doctor, a rooter-rotor


Son, you can even be nun

sorry bastards

they can hide, but they can't rum

My attorney, my son

so much for this world, hold the

yolk, at bayshore

Son, my professor, confessor

I'm your dad, your

compressor...I'm happy with your


like father, like son, be like me

a frolic, work-aholic, never leaves

behindĀ  his bottle

a professional alcoholic.

copyright (c) 2012

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