“Old long Johnson had a farm,” Sin whisper-sung under this breath. “E-I-E-I-O. And on that farm he had a Cain.” He tossed a glance over his shoulder at me, a wicked glint in his eyes. “E-I-E-I-O. With a bitch-bitch here, and a bitch-bitch there. Here a bitch, there a bitch, everywhere a little bitch.”
Lolololol
