No. 13
Not my fault the Wardens all scatter like roaches.
Not my fault y'all don't have the stomach, either.
Deal.
Sing a song of sixpence a pocket full of rye,
Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened the birds began to sing,
Oh wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the king?
[ Private to Aaron, the Master, and Two-Face ]
Seems I might need help: are any of you good for offering?
Not my fault y'all don't have the stomach, either.
Deal.
Sing a song of sixpence a pocket full of rye,
Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened the birds began to sing,
Oh wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the king?
[ Private to Aaron, the Master, and Two-Face ]
Seems I might need help: are any of you good for offering?