She's a nice girl, but her bad girl's better.
Her legs went on forever, like staring at infinity through a wisp of cotton panty along a skin of satin sea.
I came across Mother Goose, so I turned her loose, she was screaming.
Give us Direction; the best of goodwill; Put us in touch with fair winds. Sing to us softly, hum the evening's song. Tell us what the blacksmith has done for you.
Snot is running down his nose, greasy fingers, smearing shabby clothes.
In your pomp and all your glory, you're a poorer man than me.