Prison Vault Fridays are meant to be the greatest day of the week, Not like all those stiff and proper Sunday lunches, Which are all too pathetic and meek, But my last Friday stunk like cow dung, Where you abandoned me and left me stranded, Where I was hurt and out of breath as if flung, So now when you call and suddenly say it was Jen's fault, I won't even respond but hang up, Because you, my friend, my enemy, You've trapped me in this sweaty bed like its a prison vault.
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