| Probability | Text |
|---|
| 98% | Bye, son! | ▶️ |
| 96% | club son, where the league is gone, more rudak. | ▶️ |
| 100% | Son, may my thoughts lead your way Through your past it's so great Think of me as you strike With a sword and its might Seek for your own destiny Learn a secret of steel In the darkness you write Feel evil inside | ▶️ |
| 95% | Someone phrased the spam Joking only of a summer's children's son | ▶️ |
| 100% | Take it all up, pick it off the altar My cock's a hoes and we never falter It's my own personal recipe Smooth as dicky I surely'll agree Morals are a subject for starting at the bait Dokus send me wet now watch us shot master bait Ate his hoes about the right son of eight Tyranny tear to all the naked blade | ▶️ |
| 99% | Forgive me, old friend. Okay. Believefully, I say unto you, Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man, Even in drink is blood, You have no life in you. | ▶️ |
| 99% | Your son is dead. | ▶️ |
| 98% | lucky son of a bitch | ▶️ |
| 100% | Hey son, I have a robot that doesn't know how to be sexual. | ▶️ |
| 98% | SON OF A BITCH | ▶️ |
