Daily Archives: August 17, 2015

TODAY’S WOMEN

Women these days are impossible to read. 

You’ve got girlfriends telling you to treat them like whores, and whores offering a full girlfriend experience. 

It’s a nightmare – I turn up and can’t remember whether I’m supposed to beat them or murder them.

You may also want to read 50 Shades Of Blogging
https://mynameisemmanuelmuema.wordpress.com/2015/06/08/50-shades-of-blogging/

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MY GIRLFRIEND

I caught my girlfriend taking pictures of her fanny today.

When she never sent them to me I decided to confront her.

Turns out she’s got an online gynaecologist.

You may also want to read 50 Shades Of Blogging
https://mynameisemmanuelmuema.wordpress.com/2015/06/08/50-shades-of-blogging/

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WATCHING P*RN

I gotta stop watching so much porn, even when my phone battery gets to 69% I feel the need to have a wank.

You may also want to read 50 Shades Of Blogging
https://mynameisemmanuelmuema.wordpress.com/2015/06/08/50-shades-of-blogging/

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WHAT I THINK

I’m beginning to think I must masturbate too much.

I’ve just dropped my porn mag and it fucking shattered.

You may also want to read 50 Shades Of Blogging
https://mynameisemmanuelmuema.wordpress.com/2015/06/08/50-shades-of-blogging/

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STORING MILK AND BEEF

You can safely store milk and raw beef at 101.5 °F.

In a cow.

You may also want to read 50 Shades Of Blogging
https://mynameisemmanuelmuema.wordpress.com/2015/06/08/50-shades-of-blogging/

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THE RHYME SCHEME ON THIS NEW LIL WAYNE SONG IS SO MUCH ON FLEEK THAT IT TAKES YOU BACK TO NURSERY SCHOOL

Tunechi’s latest song “Glory”, our first official preview of his much anticipated Free Weezy Album, sees him spitting legit fire (or as he says, “spitting hell”) over booming bass. He may be swiftly bestowing praise upon himself, but Lil Wayne also sounds prepared to do battle to protect his name, whether it’s with Birdman or other MC peers.

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Glory Lyrics
Artist: Lil Wayne
Album: Free Weezy Album
Year: 2015

Verse 1
Woo, this that shit they didn’t want me on
I’m ‘bout to act a badonkadonk, shamone, shamone
Don’t need sugar, I need cream, I’m dark and strong
The garbage man puttin’ on cologne arouma rome
I’m on, I’m on, this that shit they didn’t want
I act a ass and shit a skunk, I will, I won’t
Black your eye like will.i.am, you Willy Wonka
That’s me in the Lamb, I’m disappearin’ like Jimmy
Hoffa
AK-47 my business partner, business is swell
French kiss a bitch, she don’t speak French, can’t kiss
and tell
I push his ass in the wishin’ well, then wish him well
Sippin’ syrup like ginger ale, but I’m the quickest snail
From here to hell, I hear them hail, I give ‘em hell
I’m spittin’ hail, I’m Clinton, well I did inhale
These niggas frail, they Chip and Dale, they little girls
Watch me act a donkey, then pin a tail, spit out ya
nails
Uh, glory, hallelujah
Holy shit, I’m the holy shit, I’m God’s manure
I know how to hack a jeweller ward and not
computers
I meditate like a Buddhist, Holy Ramen noodles
And now you sleep, I’m inside ya room with a lot of
shooters
You wake up to this chopper tool, it’s like “cock-a-
doodle”
I’m aqua-cuckoo, I turn your Froot Loop to chocolate
Yoo-Hoo
I’m hotter than Honolulu, glory on to you, glory

Verse 2
I’m aqua-cuckoo, I turn your Froot Loop to chocolate
Yoo-Hoo
I’m hotter than Honolulu, my clothes and socks, and
shoes new
I been a boo-boo since ga-ga goo-goo and dada,
FUBU
Make everybody that knew you boo-boo, I got them
spooked too
I drive a neutral, shock the future like Dr. Luther
I’m not accuser, your mama cougar, I sock it to her
My cocaine white as a white beluga, I like bazookas
I’m high as lunar, I’m wilder than Tiger’s Nikes,
Pumas
Woo, this that shit you didn’t want me on
My weed louder than underarms and car alarms
Cheers, I said: “surprise”, but couldn’t party long
I gotta get back to the grind and the drawin’ board
But all this fuckin’ art destroyed, this the art of war
These niggas’ soft as teddy bears, talk to Marky Mark
I wet your block, leave it a water park, broad or dark
I whip the work like tartar sauce, you want it hard or
raw, huh?
Uh, glory, hallelujah
Holy shit, I’m the shit, Porta Potti Tunechi
Unload the Glock profusely, resortin’ all confusion
Your motor mouth keep vroomin’, I’m goin’ Tony
Stewart
I’m on the fluid, I’m ruined, I’m cold as Boston Bruins
Lost in the shoo-shoo and who’s who, and I lost
influence
Lost my point of view till I found a mirror, start talkin’
to it
It told me the truth, it said I’m the shit and you party
poopin’
Lord, oh Lord

Verse 3
Am I talkin’ crazy? Too much coffee maybe
I smell like money, I know broke niggas feel
nauseated
The broads’ elated, my boys are faded, my car’s the
latest
My bars the greatest, they rated X like Marvel made it
She caught the babies, she bought the babies, they
orphans maybe
We got that white girl like in the ’80s, that Marcia
Brady
I dicked Tracy like Warren Beatty, I’m warm as Haiti
I’m armed and lazy, I’m sprayin’ until my arms is lazy
Pardon my mental, I’m higher than Continental
Went from flyin’ cockroaches to flyin’ without
credentials
That’s private, tell the pilot: “be quiet, we need our
privacy”
Throw you off this bitch if you wired, justifiably
Hustle with a motive, you know this, I’m with my
woadies
No snakes, no rodents, no ad-libs, no chorus
No stress, no worries, took you to a respiratory
It’s self-explanatory, the glory is mandatory, glory
Uh, glory, hallelujah
Holy shit, I can’t hold this shit, my bowel’s looser
My towel’s newer, my powder room is for powder
users
You see rolled up dollar bills filled with snot and
mucus
My tie is Lucas, my driver’s cruisin’, my partner’s
ruthless
My flowers rootless, my pockets ruthless, she poppin’
roofies
I’m not a student, I’m not assumin’, I’m not a human
You are not immune to this kind of music, you got
‘em Tunechi
You got ‘em Tunechi, I got ‘em

Outro
Glory, hallelujah
I got ‘em
I got ‘em.

You may also want to read 50 Shades Of Blogging
https://mynameisemmanuelmuema.wordpress.com/2015/06/08/50-shades-of-blogging/

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