I will tell you this much. Of the trees going round em abouts. Do not trip on the roots of the language hoard – Maud. Don’t get me wronged was the song to sing.
Cut your tongue out you dirty bastard.
Sure you win some … expire the hunt. Run the hounds to the ring. Oh noooo you don’t.
Later blue tits are calling. Out.
And then. Go inside Go inside she said.
from Conversational Poetry- majena mafe
