"Those who flashin' don't blast, they still buffoons, Just blowin out hot air, they should fill balloons. I'm like them shorties that could kill for goons, They started hustlin' in April to cop wheels in June."

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Welcome, wild harbinger of spring! To this small nook of earth; Feeling and fancy fondly cling, Round thoughts which owe their birth, To thee, and to the humble spot, Where chance has fixed thy lowly lot.

— Bernard Barton