All sliced up and sealed tight in baggies. Guess love makes you do funny things.
It's a compliment to me to hear you screaming.
He lies right at you, you know you hate this game. He slaps you once in a while and you live and love in pain.
Baby, shut up and let me drink the wine from your fur tea cup.
When you touch me there, honey, makes my blood perspire, you got my body flaming like a California fire. Pulsing, pounding, pushing no longer in control, heatwave in my brain, smolder in my soul.
They say that golf isn't a contact sport. Not the way that we play it