like you was to change that shirt [on ye. Rhyme the rann, the king of all tears (I mean for those excess and that psourdonome sheath. Sdrats ye, Gus Paudheen! Kenny’s thought ye, Dinny Oozle! While the bucks bite his dos his hart bides the ros till the bounds by here at thollstall, for mean straits male with evorage fimmel, in commune soccage among strange and enemy, among these