Amo Husserl
Superstar
Is Puff Harlem's prodigal son?
broads outta pocket
SMH the sharing too much era
what about them ultra-thin joints?3 month since the last time I had sex
Don't wanna fukk with a rubber one but scared to death to fukk a random bytch raw.
Doesn't help the fact that I'm a nut inside only type of guy.
SMH the sharing too much era
Trump Says DeSantis Lacks the Classified Documents Necessary to Be President
By Andy Borowitz
January 30, 2023
PALM BEACH (The Borowitz Report)—As Ron DeSantis reportedly prepares a White House bid, Donald J. Trump accused the Florida Governor of lacking the classified documents necessary to be President of the United States.
“A President needs nuclear codes, weapons designs, top-secret stuff like you wouldn’t believe,” Trump said. “How are you gonna get all that without classified documents? The answer is, Ron DeSantis should not be allowed to run.”
Trump predicted that “if the F.B.I. raided Ron’s house today, they wouldn’t find a goddam document. Not a goddam document. This is what makes Ron DeSantis so dangerous, quite frankly.”
In perhaps his most damning accusation, Trump alleged that DeSantis “never even tried to buy classified documents from me.”
“I had all these beautiful, gleaming documents for sale, and Ron never picked up the phone and said, ‘Sir, I’d like to buy some documents,’ ” he said. “Ron DeSantis is a disgrace.”
ridah time
So many battlefield scars while driven in plush cars
This life as a rap star is nothin without heart
Was born rough and rugged, addressin the mad public
My attitude was, fukk it, cause motherfukkers love it
To be a soldier, must maintain composure at ease
Though life is complicated, only what you make it to be
Uhh, and my ambitions as a ridah to catch her
while she hot, and horny, go up inside her
Then I spit some game in her ear, Go to the tele hoe
You put what money in a Benz, cause bytch I'm barely broke
I'm smokin bomb-ass weed feelin crucial
From player to player, the game's tight, the feeling's mutual
From hustlin and prayers, to breakin motherfukkers to pay-up
I got no time for these bytches, cause these hoes tried to play us
I'm on a meal-ticket mission, want a mil', so I'm wishin
Competition got me ripped, on that bullshyt they stressin (boo-yaa!)
I'ma rhyme though, clown hoes like it's manditory
No guts no glory my nikka bytch got the game distorted
Now it's on and it's on because I said so
Can't trust a bytch in the bidness so I got with Death Row
Now these money hungry bytches gettin suspicious
Started plottin and plannin on schemes, to come and trick us
But Thug nikkaz be on point and game tight (yeah)
Me, Syke and Bogart, wrap it up the same night
Got problems then handle it, motherfukkers see me
These nikkaz is jealous cause deep in they heart they wanna be me
Uhh, yeah, and now ya got me right beside ya
Hopin you listen I catch you payin attention
to my amibitions as a ridah