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The Sloth

The waves in my brain froth

Stains from an unnamed broth

Interesting things to leave untamed; abstain the bane and taper off

Like the joy it brings a moth with haste into the flame and the same relationship to claim with paper and elation of the cloth

They all will be engulfed; it’s the tincture for the cough

Or when your sphincter’s feeling rough and you’re feeling pretty lost; what a patron to the frost, hatred freely tossed with a face that’s falling off

All but flailing; hailing from the tree with no way to be the boss

Sailing in the storm and most likely slacking off

Hugging something warm and might be jacking off

Moving like a worm; sleeping in the loft, only working at a scoff

Lurking in the moss, sitting; smiling at the moth

Getting pissed on and then pissing off like a high school reunion, but only inviting five jocks and a Goth

With arms real strong from holding wood so long and throwing lots of rocks into the trough

We can rock real soft until the pock pops off; hang on the bar and drink punch until the cock comes off

I have a hunch that you haven’t gone too far eating lunch and fucking off like a straw boss; yawn like a bunch of fawn and lucky, yard born sloth

I have never seen a sloth exist with hot fits of wrath and not laugh by Fartfist

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Published by Fartfist

I am personally a personal personality for a personable person using this persona.

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