(Ursula Rucker). Muffled sound of fist on flesh. Blows to chest. No breath. Air gasps. You ain't nothing but white trash, bitch!. With each hit, each kick, each... broken rib.
Yeah it would be cool it could be too. Stop Running round in circles off of what we fuel. Living a lie eventually believing it's true. A lot of people here for us one could be you.