Suitcase. Got dat toothpaste. And that haste. On my pickaxe. Flicking earwax. Definitely not doing sax, in yo bed, on yo head, if I’m the reaper you’re just dead. Hitting your legs. What I just said. I’m bout to wrestle a giant ted. The ground is red with you head. I’m going have to call ms. The Fed. I spread the dead, with my bread, please Ned, call the med, oh he’s dead on the floor, shut the door, your are poor, feed me more, to the Kor, I swore, hear my roar, be at the war, there were 4, on the field, where’s my Shield