Monday, July 18, 2016

Summer 7 Eleven



Summer 7-Eleven - Oh thank Heaven/
Summer 7-Eleven - Oh thank Heaven/
Summer 7-Eleven - Oh thank Heaven/

From small town, to bustling city sounds
a 7-Eleven is sure to abound
Small rounds to round mounds
Tube tops and tube socks stay silent while the door makes sound.

Men’s noisy thoughts from silent jiggles, wiggles…. Aisle 9 is where you’ll find the pickles.
In the country, men serenade ladies with the fiddle, in hopes to fiddle, then blast off like a missile.
Or Mis-Sile, Back at 7-Eleven, a Mrs. gets lost in the pie-aisle. A bit heavy, drops the pie and cries on pie’d tile.  All the while, now she’s running late to the office job - where she files.
Guy comes in, in a suit and tie, pants restored from a previous flood - nice and high.
Impatient in line, so he lets out a sigh, lady in front of him wished he would die.
Ouch, quite barbaric for a 7 Eleven Mind.  What she doesn’t know, he’s in a bind,
If he’s late one more time, he’ll have to drive Uber come home late every night,
His girlfriend - he won’t be able to lube-her.

Fitness moms with sports bras -tits twisted fun, wardrobe malfunction while in action,
Aspiring to be the next Janet Jackson. So she takes up singing classes.

With every lunge, tights scream, 9 months mums dream pickles and ice cream.
Mums come in for the kids slurpees, in tights, getting back in shape with burpees.
Guy outside trying to sell mums shirts that say” Slurp Me”  He’s asked to leave for being too flirty.
Poor guy, still selling homemade shirts at the age of thirty.  

Summer 7-Eleven - Oh thank Heaven/
Summer 7-Eleven - Oh thank Heaven/
Summer 7-Eleven - Oh thank Heaven/

DeBarros

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