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“Election be hanged!” he exclaimed. Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. A neat tale, giving little away. She is the image of what I was like, and she has a better voice. Because every mistake you make, for every new mishap, Joe, I take a finger.
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This video was uploaded to pok-ddal23.live on 06-07-2024 23:16:26
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