Wouldn't you love
to punch Toby Keith in his throat?
Remember that creepy song pooped from the speakers of your local gas station, assaulting your sense of wellbeing and your peace with the world? You just wanted some cheese puffs, 10 bucks of gas, maybe some good convo with the cute scamp behind the counter who would always wink as you were leaving, that tomcat. But you couldn't get good convo because you were too busy swallowing a little vomit when you heard these lines:
How do you like me now?
I couldn't make you love me,
But I always dreamed about living in your radio.
AHOW DO YA LIKE ME NOW?!
You know, if I did like you that would be the question, wouldn't it Toby? HOW? How do I like you now that you've written that braggy piece of truck scented crap? Good thing I don't like you. In fact, I repeat, I would love to punch you in your throat. I wish I never heard that you named your new albutt "Big Dog Daddy". Because now I have to go through the effort of placing you even deeper into the bowels of my hatred, deeper than any other singer who ever was; you're a chore, Toby Keith.
Remember that creepy song pooped from the speakers of your local gas station, assaulting your sense of wellbeing and your peace with the world? You just wanted some cheese puffs, 10 bucks of gas, maybe some good convo with the cute scamp behind the counter who would always wink as you were leaving, that tomcat. But you couldn't get good convo because you were too busy swallowing a little vomit when you heard these lines:
How do you like me now?
I couldn't make you love me,
But I always dreamed about living in your radio.
AHOW DO YA LIKE ME NOW?!
You know, if I did like you that would be the question, wouldn't it Toby? HOW? How do I like you now that you've written that braggy piece of truck scented crap? Good thing I don't like you. In fact, I repeat, I would love to punch you in your throat. I wish I never heard that you named your new albutt "Big Dog Daddy". Because now I have to go through the effort of placing you even deeper into the bowels of my hatred, deeper than any other singer who ever was; you're a chore, Toby Keith.
2 Comments:
jessicoola,
guess what i don't hate? ONCE, this amazing irish movie. please put down whatever you're doing and go see it and love it. then write me an email about it and tell me what was your favorite part and if you tell me the part where she puts her head in his neck, then we will be best friends forever.
love, jen
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