| Probability | Text |
|---|
| 69% | Backing together with rain for 40 days, Aye I like Slain's, but I can't show no pain. My headache, enormous proportions, The size of a bucket, painkillers can't touch it. Show what my little brother's gone. Now I'm torn apart as I stand with the knife. At my heart, we shared the good and the bad times. When walls broke out to the store, it was half time. Remember she came back, yo, And we got beatings with the Hot Wheel Track. I felt the hurt from your own predicament. Lost the scholarship, can't play pro board with torn ligaments. Career suddenly ended, your goal was offended. Suicide, death tips recommended to try black, But you were not versed as we blessed the earth. So let us pour the wine, preventing suicide. So | ▶️ |
| 68% | Brethren, it's time once again to seize the public's attention, to spread the word far and wide. Los Angeles demands that her residents be deafblind and unconscious. They do not hear the gunshots and the children screaming. They do not see the mountains for the smog. They sleepwalk through the crowds, the freeway traffic jams. Their sun shatters into splinters of concrete glass and steel. And when their heads pound and their eyes burn, they close the window of the BMW, blast the air conditioner and turn up the volume on the CD player. Enough! I prepare to manifesto that will alert the citizens to the evils of this living death. My words will shake them like a 7.5 earthquake. Your role is to see to it that my treatise is printed in the LA Star Morning Edition. This Vacho tells you, listen. | ▶️ |
