"I got problems up to here, I got people in my ear, Tellin' me these crazy things and I dont want 'em"

I got 99 problems and a bitch ain't (waiiit) one.

I'm allowed at least Five (count them: 5) solid irrational moments in a year. Give or take a few. But I'm allowed them. I am human. Even if it isn't part of my normal character, even if you've never seen it before. I've got it, and I'm allowed it. Accept it and leave me the hell alone when I cash one in.

And chilll the fuck out. When its all about you, it never completely is. You're only setting yourself up for heartache if you're foolish enough to think so.

Sweet talking and bloody bitten tounges.
Bronco Bill will be proud, I can hear his compliment now. I am sophisticated and wise and kind.
And all I wanted to be was a snot and spit all the barbs I forced myself to choke on. It would be so much easier to just cut out the rot, like I've done so many times, even if theres enough healthy material around it.
You'd be surprised how far rot's spiny fingers can pry themselves into.