There's a Rumney in my room, Reclinin' semi-nude is this dude, He never wears a shirt past noon. Yes, there's a gypsy in my joint, He anoints acts for added coin, And right now he's at a funny point. I know he's only thirteen, But that's a man for gypsies, And so we sometimes cheef green. This dude smokes me up with good mids, And every time, I try to push him over the edge, By telling him to take more than just two hits. Because this fellow can't follow, And I feel sorrow that I can't borrow His crazy low tolerance level. Two hits gets him blitzed and twisted, His lids droop and his eyes get red and misted, I envy the chemechanisms in his head.
No replies to my fairy tale, eh? It's a true story actually. Have you Blades ever heard of rumneys/romneys/gypsies?