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your milk?
Uncried over?
Lapped up
My monkeys? Brassed.
My monkey? Spanked.
Your cold Medina? Funkied.
barreled?
Funky.
town
Hotel? Trivago.
My slugs? Salted.
Lucky birds
My cannon? Loose. My boat? Rocked. (Because of the loose cannon.)
My worm, eaten.
Temba, his arms wide.
Lemmy, the comments posted.
my mom’s face, stepped on.
My rocks, thrown.
I’m having way too much fun with this
My shit? Worked out.
My coffin? Nailed.
My monkeys? in a barrel.
With the fish that you shot?
Your goose being cooked is a bad thing though?
hey everyone look at salmonella tom here likes his goose raw
I like my geese free and thriving
they will be free to thrive in my belly.
Well look at Mr Many Baskets. I keep mine all in one, much more efficient and nothing can possibly go wrong. Surely.
That bridge? Reached & crossed.
I misread the instructions and burned mine. I was soo close to getting the full list right.
Eh, water under the place-where-the-bridge-used-to-be.
And under that bridge? Water.
And out of that water? A fish.
And into a frying pan I presume
Briefly, before going into the fire.
You didn’t have the courage to write “came to.” 🌉 🥵
Reached, crossed, and burned down.
Your jimmies? Rustled.
How you gonna write all that and forget about horses
My bulls? On parade
