Meth.

We're halving cow chips in '02 in the yard of your parent's parent's farm

Cutting the bullshit

Your dad inherited it and your mother is dead or left when you were 3.

There's a stale trampoline before the porch that Bob will vomit schnapps on in six years and I don't masturbate yet.

I get you and John confused sometimes. We don't smoke cigarettes.

You beat the shit out of that dog and cry when a truck doesn't stop.

I can't hold you forever.