Stick a needle in your arm, you bite the dust, you buy the farm.

My ultimate goal will be my being told in a Penthouse letter that I can frame.

If I spray it on the seat, lady gonna tie a big knot in the meat.

Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey stoopid.

He thinks about his teacher in his literary class, he's staring at her legs.

Give me lace and whiskey, Mama's own remedy.

Militant mothers hiding in the basement using pots and pans as their shields and their helmets.