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when Ann Coulter and her black lover sit down for dinner

Honey you know I'm your lapdog for you

You know I don't like the heat

Nothing just some stray accusations

I only like the look and the feel

Maybe I should let go of bitterness

I never questioned your taste

I only want to challenge every upper hand

I bet you say that to all the boys in hand to hand combat

If I can't make a difference then I'll become

Become what

Something like my own mother

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