Bank'd out Street Street, hooked a Bee Line to Wolf Mountain't, Took
my Prisoners.

Struck a quadplug past the bookbomb shops the Hippies

stokin' my broken flame a real Stunt of a bad Smile,

remember? Of course you would. Changed my name, rote memoir
sucked stuck to the margin,

crack margin gone to work against you another week. Anyway,
nobody bark. Broke the inky peace of Proclub rot.

What hath God wrought!