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Black-circle sunken red-webbed sclera, eyes of hang dog priest begging for a slim chance at peace. To walk away from bleeding streets, plastic-bagged men who reek the wretched stench of milk, the dying, and the dead.
"What the hell kind of name is I.B. Bangin'?"
By Cameron Hodge4.1
88 ratings
Black-circle sunken red-webbed sclera, eyes of hang dog priest begging for a slim chance at peace. To walk away from bleeding streets, plastic-bagged men who reek the wretched stench of milk, the dying, and the dead.
"What the hell kind of name is I.B. Bangin'?"