Last night Sabina sang

Sabina’s bad side is not Sabina. Sabina’s worst part is that she’s such a fan that she dreams of the Big Rex and calls the girl who kneads her bread “mine”. Sabina’s bad side is the singer’s wife, who believes that the thorn of a simple song has turned a life with children and a mortgage into a rose, a nasty tie-dye husband living the mint days of the neighborhood market. to the place of a wet dream with creamy overflowing nipples; and sin. Sabina’s bad side is not Sabina.

The bad thing about Sabina is my colleague. sabinero because in your kitchen the famous tabarra rubs you by singing quinine refrains to heal the sickness and fever of many ailments. beautiful woman it will always serve the cats to the bunnies in the corner. This hallucinogenic cult persecutes us from those who know by heart all the songs of the skinny, pinball heroes, who screw up, live uncles from the brothel, donkeys from the waterwheel, chotis and statuette bastards, thongs and tattooed chulaponas. suburban thugs buy lace panties from Cortefiel, against Torrente pa’ notario.

Sabina’s bad side is always mink girls, dainty pepe pups, mushroom hair, horny forties, Gucci and Cartier puppets, spicy queens, single women for rent, talking friezes from the El Viso Parthenon, stationary bikes in the attic, camphor-filled boobs: two some bacchantes with footed wicks, very high foreheads, more promising, carousel, seduction and mockery. Passion for merkromina, Maltese cross, manola in parade after his captive father’s daughter, Jesus Quintero.

The bad side of Sabina is the hatajo of the legion poets who applauded the singer—pebble can be made even without an ax. Hemistich and whooping cough poets, hackers vein and strychnine from the heart, from saltpeter to the bed of the microphone. Intimissimi vates, nerudians of gathered games, star vallejianos of gong, primate blood. Sheet and paint pussies, pilot puppies that an ITV saw in the song bark at a cloud. The bad ones are years, verses and sticks, swords and even bulls. It’s not Sabina that’s bad, you know. The bad thing is to want to entrust yourself to the false memory ointment that the teacher said. angel Gonzalez, pour salfuman over the wounds, make a cross to the song one more time. Last night, Sabina, comrades.

Last night, to the concert as usual. To save the world or to pass the time? In case you didn’t know, I killed Sabina!

Source: Informacion

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