Sixty cents, no consent, do not pass go, go directly to voicemail.

That number isn't even the right number.
And when I called what I thought was the right number,
It wasn't.
There's some pretty amazing voicemail boxes on Lavalife at the moment,
Some stoner sex offender lady reckons all junk and then keeps talking after she thought she hung up.

But in my tucked up, fucked up haze, the Sydney freestyle radio show number went up in smoke.
I might find it on another wavelength, another day.

But it's Kurtis Blow.