They say I got links for mashes I told them “you're talking flizz” And this lightskinned one's too boujee but Moody like Margaret is I hit OT then back to the nizz

In “Beach Baby,” a countryish waltz, and “Babys,” a ballad with an itchy piano underlay, Mr. Vernon conjures thoughts of summertime from a distance.

I'm in my tent on the shores of the beautiful Pacific, listening to the plentiful supply of liquid sunshine coming down.

Remoisten and reblot two or three times until what you're blotting up is colorless or the faint color of Red or Blue juice, but definitely not the color of wine.