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Allen Clarke Allen Clarke
Recommendations: 18

Rhyme a Jam Clive

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George Washington!

Here I sits at 2am.The clock tickety talks to me free of charge.I ain`t into those silly phone lines where you hasta imagine where you know you`ll never go there. The silence breathes out «`go to sleep to me, nevertheless I possess to regress into my nightly persona of midnite writer.It gives me the creeps when I can`t count sheeps, so I clickety clack away to the tune of the singin`moon this June. I ain`t no loon,nay, not even a goon.I know you must think that Iam a mad hatter, no matter.If I farted would you think me cold-hearted, or merely and sheerly uncouth. I prefer vermouth and gin and not fruit of the vin, hey, what about sin?I don`t preach to leach or teach about the go and the flow of my mojo, bro.The slack of my black refrain is a runaway train that`s run to the tune of hipety-hop slop and persnickety ditties composed by decomposed composers that rot in the lot of the slot. The cruddy cut sluts that cat about town know no regrets bout`their jive lives...turkey is a bird of the word or the word of a thanksgivin`livin`driven to lewd misgiven.I now bid you adieu or a parlay francais, wanna lay me down to sleep, Bo-peep.Bye, Yàll!

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