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But, alas, we never do
After all the swallowing and fits
When I’m held hostage on a tram full of tuneless durges
With the dizzying twirl of girls pretending to be lap dancers
And red faces forcing out their final attempts at humour
Spurred on by my goading way of trying to keep out of it
And dragging me up for a conga line
I think- count yourself lucky I am not 20 anymore
Or I would ...
Sunday 11th August 2013 2:01 pm
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