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We Laugh

This song is by Your Mother.

On my bike at the crosswalk with long, pink hair and 7-inch goatee, I caught her in her
BMW trying not to laugh at me. "I remember that phase," she thought to herself, "do you have something to prove of just trying to get attention?" I bet her phase was frat boys, drinking games and mall awareness.
She was waiting at the light hiding in her
BMW couldn't help but notice me, the stain on her suburban view.
Biting her lip, a weak attempt to stifle her laugh. I stared at her.
She looked just like every
Judge or
French teacher I'd ever met: cropped hair and pointy sideburns. I can laugh at you too, so who's the better?
Not me or you.
We laugh at what we don't understand.

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