O God!
\nMy dearest Rebecca,
\nGaze upon her posterior
\nIt would appear she is intimate with one of those hoodlum poets
\nThe behemothic proportions of it!
\nbut, alas, who could hope to understand such a mind as a poets?
\nWould they waste a breath
\nif she wasn’t seen as though a lady of the night?
\nAh, her derri\u00e8re!
\nIts circumference, vast
\nReaching up to the heaven\u2019s above
\nThe thought, repulsing
\nBut I must look
\nThe shade, ebony<\/p>\n
Original Text<\/p>\n
Oh, my, God Becky, look at her butt
\nIts just so big, she looks like
\nOne of those rap guys’ girlfriends.
\nBut, ya know, who understands those rap guys?
\nThey only talk to her, because,
\nShe looks like a total prostitute, ‘kay?
\nI mean, her butt, is just so big
\nI can’t believe it’s just so round, it’s like out there
\nI mean gross, look
\nShe’s just so, black<\/p>\n
From Baby Got Back by Sir Mix-a-Lot<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
O God! My dearest Rebecca, Gaze upon her posterior It would appear she is intimate with one of those hoodlum poets The behemothic proportions of it! but, alas, who could hope to understand such a mind as a poets? Would … Continue reading