(voiceover)
- Hello, my name is Scilla
- nice to meet Scilla e. .. Charybdis?
- func dick without capiddi
- aaah ...
fabraxssssss!
the crap they're mine, are mine, eh eh eh ...
the crap they're mine, are mine, campaigns campaigns campaigns ...
Titina not seek and do not know who is not even a dime
launch in the air and to hell why.
Today my thoughts turned to a category
which is the main component of sympathy,
are the VIP! Beep beep beep beep ... Vip
during trip, someone eternally rip
chest, packs ideals, and slip silicone.
Users of crack, users of the crick
I do crock with a cracker. Very rock.
For example, we enter into the temple of tronista,
indifferent, climber, served in bellavista
animated like a puppet
almost always pretty boy
gym so that he can not do a good fucking loved,
rude, emulated, paparazzi,
feeling televised modified promoter of the subjunctive
alternative
piacione, potential star of nothing
already ruined bedding. The
crap are mine, are mine
the crap are mine, are
my original phantom lies
I want to disclose to my aunts. In fact
of sympathy here check
Luca Barbareschi, to avoid hearing the
removed with a bazooka. How
squacquerone Sgarbi follows the direction of the wind,
around to care for their cocks and hardly ever in parliament.
first socialist craxi then convinced finiano,
Syndrome conformism
meanders on meritocracy and Berlusconi.
He complained of the pay of Members:
"is too low, what to do?
I have to work!" I am
blood sliced \u200b\u200b
if I think that hurts the cigarettes, and
while trying to split the hair into four
here is the League's turn grumble a trans:
"but made a node to the pea!" The
crap are mine, are mine
the crap are mine, are mine
as guests may look
are real poems.
tried in vain to stem the rock
when I run the disturbing figure of Christian
Malgioglio.
I'm going to have a slump, stagger,
Ciuffettino with what looks like a white chicken, a dialectic
bounded in the space of a postage stamp,
"more than I write trend'anni Ganzoni ...
guy is a candande impordande, intonado ... Better
the arrival of a tornado!
I also want to be VIP for a day,
per apparire ragionevolmente eccentrica
mi sbronzo di una bevanda light,
m'infilo le babbucce e un tight
e mi presento al "Chiambretti night".
Le stronzate sono mie, sono mie
le stronzate sono mie, sono mie
annusatele soltanto
se me le portate via
vi metto tutti al bando.
Per concludere, una nota positiva,
vi annuncio una diva,
un'attrice di razza, passionale, riservata, un po' pazza,
allergica al matrimonio e alle convenzioni.
Occhi di cielo, esigente, intelligente
e dalla recitazione controversa, sempre diversa.
Una delle rarissime artiste
in cui dove posa l'occhio non c'è ombra di ritocco.
E' torinese, vera, cortese e molto gnocca,
aprite gli occhi e chiudete la bocca,
sto parlando di Stefania Rocca.
La penso, la cerco, provo a contattarla,
niente da fare, non c'è modo di trovarla.
Qualcuno mi ha detto:
non dormire. Cerca di capire,
è impegnata ed è sempre in giro,
semmai la incontrerai
portati un taccuino e una biro.
Sarà, ma a me viene l'abbiocco
se mi faccio fare uno scarabocchio,
troppo scontato, troppo banale,
opterei per la dieta libera dell'ospedale.
E poi si avvertirebbe nell'aria
una probabile insidia allarmante
l'incappo di quei fans dal genio illuminante
che immagino, utilizzano il solito andazzo
of great questions from overwork:
"Viol @ girasti when you felt embarrassed?"
or "you are always very high, pure, beautiful, a lot,"
those that start with enthusiasm and candor:
"continue to do everything crazy for love? "
Oh well, better meet the screams soft comb
porcupines and of course the usual rites, perhaps in another life
propose the
lost my subjects. The
crap are mine are mine are mine
the crap are not my
scervellatevi too, are the cleaning lady
- Hello, my name is Scilla
- nice to meet Scilla e. .. Charybdis?
- func dick without capiddi
- aaah ...
fabraxssssss!
the crap they're mine, are mine, eh eh eh ...
the crap they're mine, are mine, campaigns campaigns campaigns ...
Titina not seek and do not know who is not even a dime
launch in the air and to hell why.
Today my thoughts turned to a category
which is the main component of sympathy,
are the VIP! Beep beep beep beep ... Vip
during trip, someone eternally rip
chest, packs ideals, and slip silicone.
Users of crack, users of the crick
I do crock with a cracker. Very rock.
For example, we enter into the temple of tronista,
indifferent, climber, served in bellavista
animated like a puppet
almost always pretty boy
gym so that he can not do a good fucking loved,
rude, emulated, paparazzi,
feeling televised modified promoter of the subjunctive
alternative
piacione, potential star of nothing
already ruined bedding. The
crap are mine, are mine
the crap are mine, are
my original phantom lies
I want to disclose to my aunts. In fact
of sympathy here check
Luca Barbareschi, to avoid hearing the
removed with a bazooka. How
squacquerone Sgarbi follows the direction of the wind,
around to care for their cocks and hardly ever in parliament.
first socialist craxi then convinced finiano,
Syndrome conformism
meanders on meritocracy and Berlusconi.
He complained of the pay of Members:
"is too low, what to do?
I have to work!" I am
blood sliced \u200b\u200b
if I think that hurts the cigarettes, and
while trying to split the hair into four
here is the League's turn grumble a trans:
"but made a node to the pea!" The
crap are mine, are mine
the crap are mine, are mine
as guests may look
are real poems.
tried in vain to stem the rock
when I run the disturbing figure of Christian
Malgioglio.
I'm going to have a slump, stagger,
Ciuffettino with what looks like a white chicken, a dialectic
bounded in the space of a postage stamp,
"more than I write trend'anni Ganzoni ...
guy is a candande impordande, intonado ... Better
the arrival of a tornado!
I also want to be VIP for a day,
per apparire ragionevolmente eccentrica
mi sbronzo di una bevanda light,
m'infilo le babbucce e un tight
e mi presento al "Chiambretti night".
Le stronzate sono mie, sono mie
le stronzate sono mie, sono mie
annusatele soltanto
se me le portate via
vi metto tutti al bando.
Per concludere, una nota positiva,
vi annuncio una diva,
un'attrice di razza, passionale, riservata, un po' pazza,
allergica al matrimonio e alle convenzioni.
Occhi di cielo, esigente, intelligente
e dalla recitazione controversa, sempre diversa.
Una delle rarissime artiste
in cui dove posa l'occhio non c'è ombra di ritocco.
E' torinese, vera, cortese e molto gnocca,
aprite gli occhi e chiudete la bocca,
sto parlando di Stefania Rocca.
La penso, la cerco, provo a contattarla,
niente da fare, non c'è modo di trovarla.
Qualcuno mi ha detto:
non dormire. Cerca di capire,
è impegnata ed è sempre in giro,
semmai la incontrerai
portati un taccuino e una biro.
Sarà, ma a me viene l'abbiocco
se mi faccio fare uno scarabocchio,
troppo scontato, troppo banale,
opterei per la dieta libera dell'ospedale.
E poi si avvertirebbe nell'aria
una probabile insidia allarmante
l'incappo di quei fans dal genio illuminante
che immagino, utilizzano il solito andazzo
of great questions from overwork:
"Viol @ girasti when you felt embarrassed?"
or "you are always very high, pure, beautiful, a lot,"
those that start with enthusiasm and candor:
"continue to do everything crazy for love? "
Oh well, better meet the screams soft comb
porcupines and of course the usual rites, perhaps in another life
propose the
lost my subjects. The
crap are mine are mine are mine
the crap are not my
scervellatevi too, are the cleaning lady
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