I have thirteen knives, and a sore riddled Black pussy

The prostitute was positively black and sliced in a variety of fashions. Corn rolls, bloody sponge, retractable thumbs, tattoo of Felix the cat on an earlobing bumm. I had won her in a bet with a Jamaican pimp from the Triangle B. Blind as can be, in lew and lee, persuasive. Abrasive? You bet, see Set, no net, all set. Fire in the hole! Fire in the HOle! Hole! Hole! Whole! Soul! Sole? Ole! the crowd stands on end! Ole! The bull sees red. My sword! No horse... A bow, death is immaculate. If I was on a cruise, say, on the Nile? Would I bet a Scottsman, who could pull their trousers up the highest for a stuffed crocodile? Absolutely, but first I'd reach under his kilt, and check for a pulse. What has that got to do with my sore riddled black pussy? The meow motherfucker. Take a look at your shoes, and ask yourself, have I been walking the path of the righteous? Is Jesus really on my team, or do I play both sides of the fence, in blissful ignorance.