They're so cuddly, friendly, infinitely knowledgeable, provide that automated touch and promote the anus as a sex organ for tomorrow's parents. What's not to like?
Oh I am very familiar. Good for him. The verse lyric is a bit terse here & there, but the chorus is lovely.
They had LGBT pitch side adverting on Saturday. Arsenal have become woke HQ... very irritating.
One back from Thetford, home of Thomas Paine. Cheap & cheerful production recorded in a tiny church. My artwork. Do leave a comment. Kris is building his YouTube channel.
The football and the woke bllks need a full article on it's own, as I have a theory and unfortunately the more shit I see; the more I believe it is correct.
NHS and drones = digital shit everywhere and 15-minutes cities...but easy to damage when they drop or deliver their supplies, use their parts and make killer drones (need an IT bod there though which is my only problem).
Oh I am very familiar. Good for him. The verse lyric is a bit terse here & there, but the chorus is lovely.
They had LGBT pitch side adverting on Saturday. Arsenal have become woke HQ... very irritating.
One back from Thetford, home of Thomas Paine. Cheap & cheerful production recorded in a tiny church. My artwork. Do leave a comment. Kris is building his YouTube channel.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vTwosmKjgOA
The football and the woke bllks need a full article on it's own, as I have a theory and unfortunately the more shit I see; the more I believe it is correct.
NHS and drones = digital shit everywhere and 15-minutes cities...but easy to damage when they drop or deliver their supplies, use their parts and make killer drones (need an IT bod there though which is my only problem).
Gunners doing well, so keep it up ...
'Hello patient, may I inspect you?' asked the robotic voice of the NHS drone as it's proboscis approached the cavity area.
Here is a song for you my friend.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wjCJv4W4kvw
As I walk these streets alone, through this borough I call home
Upon the baron fields of Highbury 'neath the stadiums of stone
Through the turnstiles at The Angel, see the homeless on the green
From The Cally to The Cross, and every shithole in between
Pass the church, the mosque, a crack den, and the offie on the corner
See the brasses from the brothel that pretends to be a sauna
Watch the bedlam in the bookies, see thе winners and the losers
Seeking solacе from their sorrows in the local battle cruisers
Through the madness in the market, weathered faces turn to greet ya
"Hello guvnor, how's your mother?"
"You alright son, be lucky, geeza"
Double pie and mash and liquor, a Cuppa Rosie Lee up chap
Or watch retired gangsters bicker, everyday in Arthur's cafe
The little fuckers causing trouble, for the cozzers make you smile
You meet ya muckers for a couple, forget your troubles for a while
From The Thornhill to The Hemmy, all the faces are the same
'Cause the manor might be changing, but the people still remain
North London forever
Whatever the weather
These streets are our own
And my heart will leave you never
My blood will forever
Run through the stone