‘Bra & Panties’ — #Lyrics To An R&B Song

Just like the phrase “bra and panties” and the idea that if a woman’s bra and panties match when she takes her clothes off in front of you, she seduced you. This would be an R&B beat, whatever that means.

Bra & Panties
lyrics by Shelton Bumgarner
please give credit if you produce or perform

look in the mirror
what do I see
but black bra and panties
waiting for my time
to throw down
he won’t know what hit him
the sin will be too much
’cause I know he likes it rough
once he sees my

bra and panties
only the best
bra and panties
show a little bit of flesh

he thinks he’s got his eye on me
when I’ve got my eye on him
I’ll let him win
but I’ll claim my victory
when he’s moaning on top of me
he won’t know what to say when he sees my

bra and panties
only the best
bra and panties
show a little bit of flesh

a little passion is my fashion
when I see his smile
things will break my way
as they always do
without fail

there’s nothing he can do
he’ll have to swoon
when he get a sight of my
bra and panties
bra and panties
bra and panties

‘Awkward’ — #Lyrics To Pop Song About Taylor Swift

No one will ever produce any of these lyrics I write, but it is relaxing. I do enjoy at least attempting to tell a story in verse. This is just a pointless, useless hobby. This would have a pretty standard pop beat to it.

lyrics by Shelton Bumgarner
please give credit if you produce or perform

famous as can be
she seems like she always about to flee
tall and lean she’s like no one else
and boy can she dance
but no matter what you can tell
that she’s not quite right


her eyes glow like the summer sun
but she seems about to run
lies are all about her
but there’s no doubt about her
she loves her fan
at least that’s her plan

when will we believe
her musical story of lies
maybe we if we quit staring at her thighs
nothing from her but sighs
leave her alone
let her live with her moans
’cause she’s


what more do you want
a piece of her soul
if you do
you’re on a roll

nothing to see her
just another boy by her side
one she’s going to take for ride
maybe write a curse in verse
once he says goodbye

V-Log: Idle Rambling

by Shelton Bumgarner

Just me rambling.

‘End Of Story’ — #Lyrics To A Pop Song

Feh. While I’m content, I’m annoyed. So in an effort to get some creative release I’m back to writing song lyrics. Here’s just me rambling around. This would be like the Avril Lavigne’s Sk8er Boi.

End Of Story
lyrics by Shelton Bumgarner

he was a fat fuck
she was a bunny
wealthy as can be
he ruled the LA roost
how they met nobody knows

he was rich
she was pregnant
end of story
he was rich
she was pregnant
end of story

she grows with life
calls up Davidson
he says we’ll get you some dough
Cohen helps her man
he’s got a plan
what’s up that anyhow

but that’s what happen
that’s they tell me
I have to believe
it’s plain to see

he was rich
she was pregnant
end of story
he was rich
she was pregnant
end of story

Orange couldn’t be involved
oh no way that’s not true
despite a more than a million reason
to believe he was

now it’s all over
we’re walking away
the facts are obvious to see
but I thought I knew the truth
shows me what I know

The Allegory Of The Hottie

by Shelton Bumgarner

I was hanging out in Richmond’s Fan area today sobering up and enjoying the hot afternoon, when I noticed an attractive young lady drinking, eating and talking with her friend. I sat there, looking straight at her and tried to figure out how I could possibly talk to her. She was wearing sunglasses and occasionally she would look straight back at me.

Now, I’m older and jaded so really my interest in her was more about how drunk I was and the fact that she was in direct eyeshot than anything else. I struggled to figure out different ways that we could meet. I thought about what little I knew about game theory and couldn’t think of anything.

Unless she did something really conspicuous to give me some hook, some reason to believe she wanted me to talk to her, I was at a loss. And that was that. I paid my tab, walked right past her, she seemed to subtly flinch when I didn’t talk to her and was on my way.

That’s how I feel about #FOTUS at this point.

Trump’s potential involvement is staring straight at me in the guise of that $1.6 million pay off, but I got nothing. Nothing at all. No evidence that the whole, “He was rich. She was pregnant. End of Story,” thing isn’t true. So, if you continue to read any of my rantings on this subject either you’re a hater who is hate reading, someone who thinks I’m a fool or a sympathetic conspiracy theorist.

But I have to accept that I’m never going to meet the girl. Unless New York Magazine writes a follow up or the SDNY has something up their sleeve, this story is, at last over.

He was rich.
She was pregnant.
End of story.

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Bgure guvatf.

Bapr lbh pnyy ohyyfuvg ba ure pnfhnyyl orvat ersreerq Xrvgu Qnivqfba gura jung ryfr vf fur ylvat nobhg?

Orpuneq vf na npgerff. Crgre X. Fgevf vf ab qhzzl. Ur pbhyq pbnpu ure gb gryy nalbar jub nfxrq rabhtu gb znxr gurz oryvrir gur pbire fgbel.

Ohg ab bar unf rkcynvarq gung $1.6 zvyyvba gb zr. Lbh pna’g. Gung $1.6 zvyyvba cbcf bhg naq fvzcyl gryyvat zr V’z jebat naq gb fuhg hc qbrfa’g phg vg.

#FOTUS — He Was Rich. She Was Pregnant. End Of Story. (The Final Assessment)

by Shelton Bumgarner

Given everything I know as of this point — and the non-publishing of a follow up by New York Magazine — as of this moment I have to give up. There was no cover story. Elliot Broidy got his lover Shera Bechard pregnant. He gave her a $1.6 million payout and that, as they say, is that.

Continue reading “#FOTUS — He Was Rich. She Was Pregnant. End Of Story. (The Final Assessment)”

#FOTUS: ‘Wilson’

by Shelton Bumgarner

My plan today is to wait until about 11 a.m. and walk to the nearby Mexican restaurant, drink a Miller Light and drink a tequila or two, come home, take a nap and contemplate going to Richmond’a Fan district this afternoon to take pictures. Relative to me, as of right now, I have no reason to believe anything of note is going to happen other than waking up on the wrong side of the bed. I feel a bit of out sorts and I don’t know why.

Having said all that, I don’t know what’s going to happen.

I don’t want to speculate that anything of note on the #FOTUS front might happen anytime soon. I have too much of a vested interest at this point to be objective. I only say that because I’ve really put myself out there. A lot depends on how airtight the Broidy cover story is. If it’s a cover story at all. If it’s a cover story and when a journalist or two throws a rock into the Big Black Void and nothing pops out saying shut up, it Bechard was dating Broidy and here’s proof, then TrumpCohen has a problem.

A big problem.

And, let me note, the only reason why I even bring up “Wilson” as I think of it — named after the Cast Away volleyball — is that $1.6 million NDA payoff. You can explain everything else away. You can say that the reason why Broidy picked Cohen is he knew him through the RNC and he wanted to keep the matter private. That’s a perfectly logical explanation.

Except for the $1.6 million.

I still believe that’s an enormous sum for an NDA payoff, even if you say Broidy was extremely embarrassed by all of this and he was feeling exceptionally generous. Throw in that Bechard was represented by TrumpCohen best buddy Keith Davidson and that Broidy, Davidson and Cohen had every vested interest in screwing over Bechard by lowballing her and something does not add up.

It so does not add up that just like when I was walking around work on Wednesday and the skies opened and a thunderclap of realization struck me, you have to stare into the Big Black Void and scream: WILSON.

Everyone’s lying. Or at least screw with people’s minds.

Wilson is to me that moment when you have taken your shoes and watch off and the plane abruptly goes into a tailspin. Everything changes and you have to hold on for dear life. But I have so often ventured out beyond the horizon of the known so many times only to be completely embarrassed that it’s very possible I’m delusional. It’s very possible that Broidy really was paying off a babydaddy issue and Trump was completely unconnected. That’s a real possibility at this point.

As I have said more than once, everything we know says Trump’s the babydaddy, and everything we don’t know says it’s Broidy. It doesn’t take too much for me to wince at how ridiculous I’ve been in my speculation. But the continued silence on the part of the Big Black Void is…odd.

I’ve been really conspicuous on this Website talking about this and add to that the New York Magazine articles and I, of all people, would have been poked by someone, telling me I’m being a dick and to shut up. That would be enough to shut me up pretty quick. You could say that the people who know the truth, that it’s Broidy, either are constrained by the NDA or don’t care enough to correct me.

So, we wait.

I’m looking forward to my tequila.