Absolute pure poetry
Absolute pure poetry
You intend to reach my stomach?
Here cums santa!
Is it according to your taste, miss?
A dick would make the picture better
Her holes are playground for men
Why so damn perfect?
Tear it and make me tear up
I'll stop talking and i'll start doing
Serve her a cup of tea after
Santa brought the right flavours
You said to do whatever i want
She brought the good stuff