He cored his own stone.
Klimt:Tree of life
Many a fickle lover’s tickled me like noone ever did galore.
He never blames except the whores.
As one bore flits another scarpers.
How many aisles to babble in ?
She loved him in her ungrown ways.
It’s a good way to tickle Mary.She’s my tart,so there!
Fool Britannia.
Here’s my number,Jack.I’m called Kay.
Twas the last blows of plumbers that ruined my pipes.
And for the final hymn,Full in the ranting arms of Joan.
Follwed by coffee in the church’s balls
How my heart sings 