skiblamo

She’s a glutton, she’s no kitten; she can stuff her face for Britain See her sitting in her Citroen, you can spot her from afar. She is buxom, she is brazen, see her bottom, it’s amazing, She is straining at the straplets of her cantilevered bra. She’s an airship, she’s a trawler, still I worship and adore her She’s a randy landslide riding in her flash French car. As a goddess, she’s the oddest, and she’s vulgar and immodest She’s the empress of breast, she is my sweet Dagmar. She’s no figment, she’s no fragment, she’s a fat fridge magnet and she’s sticking like a limp