Prekolnye poems Bashny.Net

Girls mowed corn,
Boob slap on the paunch.
The sun bakes the head,
From pussy brine flows

Girl, what are you crying?
What sob sweet, greedily?
I thought - a real macho?
No. I'm just a drunk stupid ass



Well in June
in the villa area to hang himself.
It is a pity that someone with morning sun
ranenko will be aired.

Came the dawn,
Dawn gets up,
And you hung up,
And in vain ...

It was spring, and the lady smelled
As freshly picked plums.
Men gasped in admiration ...
Preferring still beer.

The little boy was playing with ruzhishkom,
He curiously assorted it.
Nechayno finger pulled the trigger,
Giggled in unison brains on the ceiling!

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