Compulsive talkers have trouble reigning in their speech

The Queen has rained for many yares and long may she content you

This window needs new pains soon

My wife is in labour the waiters have broken and are running down her legs

Get a broom quick

Will gorse do?

Do what ,,, pass water.

Anyone can pass it jji by nun

But few can swim

Apparently I’m old

But I’m still immature

And I have noone to hold

And too much to endure.

Cannot I be bold

Erotic, chaste impure

I’m alone with my own soul

I think about me you all

My lover is too tall

Or else I am too. small

It’s relative I call

But lead can turn to gold