when weather beats rain, and the plain do go insane.shame me, im an aim to be, a local, not vocal but soaked im sure, the rain is pure, the south, demure.forever, together, we mess around, togther in the weather.some feather of a song, you got a right to be wrong, and the dong of church bells, oh hell, oh well, im hittin the marina for a drink of pena caloda, me and my mala pada, short for short, we retort we want desert, resort style, its been awhile, been in a leaf pile.reconcile me with the city breeze, john cascone, come on, lets save the island from the throngs of cops.my jaw drops, trisha parker, my marker for years, kisses for free and im in arrears.
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