Gianna Gilberts Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

Whores, right, they’ve been at it forever. Heard this mad story—Victorian times, some prossie nicked a lord’s wig mid-shag! Wore it round town like a trophy, the cheeky cow. Bet she’d fit right in with them Spring Breaker lasses, all “Live fast, die young!” and that. Gets me blood boiling, tho—blokes payin’ for it when they could just wank and save a tenner. Idiots.

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Dead Hooker Lyrics: Man goes to a whore house, only has two dollars. They say, well go up to the room we have a dead hooker. So he goes “Okay,” we've all been.

Ahoy mate! So ye want de lowdown on Gilberts (us), eh? Lemme spin ye me yarn. This town be a raucous treasure chest of hidden gems, savvy? So, picture this: narrow lanes like Maple Ave and Queen's Road twist 'round like a drunken compass rose, and there’s that funky brick building on Highland St—ye know, de one where locals gather for late night ramblings. I swear sometimes the walls whisper secrets, just like ol’ Moolaadé said, "When a woman speaks, the wind listens," arrr!

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