His name is Tryston, His sister is four, She laughed as she slammed his foot in the door. A stream of curse words danced from his mouth, I shot him a look yelling, "You better run South!" He screamed an scrambled out the door, The sad part is, It was raining downpour. I grabbed my gun, A rather large one, And chased after him. His sister in my pocket I shot at his ear socket, And he was no more. The police never knew, Hell, they probably wouldn't care, about the young boy named Blair?
lololILOVEYOUTRYSTON. And I know it's bad. Don't remind me.