dominates

siawns, mon ami!" MC Daffodil wiped his brow dramatically. "Beth yw hyn? You want more? Pas de probleme, les gars!" He dropped the bass with a kazoo solo. Meanwhile, a council of waffles debated the merits of sentient crêpes and robotic sheep to spontaneously knit cardigans out of moonlight and daffodils. "Flibber my flow, I’ll slay this show," MC Daffodil Rhymes laid down bars so hot they melted the quantum kumquat. Tacos made of spaghetti squash.