M'avete broke his dick. You, I'm the Bishop of shit, who married the couple, who have tortured, flogged, beheaded, the faithful, relics, churches, all the kissing, hearts, smielazio, dinners, massages, text messages, appointments, licks, the cupids, chocolates, flower bouquets, red roses, soft slippers, the coffee in bed, the puccipù, weekends, opportunities, offers, advertisements, links, everything I'm red and pink bows and arrows, teddy bears, stuffed animals are the morbidosità, dolcioso, and coccolume cazzatelle. It can not be more than all this stuff.
Both horns have put them there, and continue to make. You will continue to fight, you give up and weep. Nobody believes that lasts forever, what do you take it and promise to do everything st'impegno?
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