trunks sex

On White Women By Charles Oakley Oak here. Yeah, that Oak—I ain’t go no where. This tree’s got some roots boy, I’m still standing, just might be startin’ to sway a little bit. I know I ain’t gettin’ any younger. This chicken might’ve laid its last egg in the League, but it don’t mean it’s laid its last damn chickenhead. I ain’t talking bout laying out bytches like Hill or McGinnis—I still throw bows and bloody fros of those punk-ass clowns—I’m talking bytches with pink toes and shaved ho’s. That’s right, I’m talkin’ white women. See, I don’t have them running legs to get up and down the floor no more like these kids today, but Oak knows more about what it takes to sex up a coal burning cracker than anyone in the NBA. Real good too. And since I got a few more rings around my trunk these days, I thought I’d pass along a few of my secrets to all you young brothers out there who might want do some snow flakin’, Charles Oakley-style.

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