He’s a basil-dusted bandit,
With a whiskered, wiggly grin—
A little bit of garden fresh,
A little bit of sin.

He’s faintly sweet as summer leaves,
And sharply, boldly rank—
But oh, beneath that stinky puff
He tastes like pesto’s prank.

doody

IF U WERE KILLED TOMORROW, I WOULDNT GO 2 UR FUNERAL CUZ ID B N JAIL 4 KILLIN DA MOTHA ♥♥♥♥♥ THAT KILLED U!


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WE TRUE HOMIES
WE RIDE TOGETHER
WE DIE TOGETHER
Send this GUN to everyone you care about including me if you care. C how many times you get this, if you get a 9 your A TRUE HOMIE

ayooo

-rep keeps posting on people profile. touch grass L-taker.