BUTT SONG. . . . . . . . . . . Whether you are a hymn singing convert or a gun waving thug, this you must agree with. The butt. Of all the good features given a woman, the eyes, face, hair boobs etc, non has magic as the ass. Men have done various heroic deeds for wanton reasons but if there were any worth pretext to put your being in peril, that pretext and excuse must be accorded the butt. I speak not of your cellulite attacked huggers or bonny teenie butocks, but of a well formed butt between innocence of youth and duty accomplished behind. The butt. It must be felt. Touched. Caressed. Pinched. Held on for dear life. Butt -let me sing your praises. Watch it as she walks. It wobbles just right. Agitated it seems. Watch it as she undresses
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