Been sorting out my routes in Kent for the next following days. Enjoying all the freedom of our ways Free speech without muting So it begs this observation, Who is a war-mongering cretin? Well, no odds are needed, and no bet on It's the aggressive bear called Putin.
Blown away by a gale She came through the hail Tumbled from the next dale A siren without a sail Turning men forsook pale Lost without a trail And here endeth my tale.
It's four in the morning I am no longer yawning Although I have been to bed And I feel neither awake nor dead Which thoughts have concluded Brains cells are not boring.
Well back at home with the jazz codes After a day out elsewhere on other roads Ashford be that town I strode Doing my usual thang Covert shopping thang Records bought as well And that is my usual mode.