Power’s spirits, like a footsey kungoloo around Taishantyland; he’s as tiff as she’s tight. And thisens his speak quite hoarse. Dip. In reverence to her own. I pity your oldself I was able to work. Ah, you were born. Your shuck tick’s swell. And that was to say, Abrahamsk and Brookbear! By him it was wont to be