It's yer choice ter read. It's yer choice ter not read.
Her palms were growing moister by the minute.
"You, there, boy: stir that pot...and all what's in it!"
She wander'd 'round the cloister night and day;
her green Rolls Royce turn'd right, then sped away.
To foist her on our fam'ly...? Bad idea:
she's Joyce Terrazzo; she's got diarrhea.
Her uncle work'd a hoist; her aunt...? No way!
(I play'd Ralph Roister Doister in that play.)
"You, there, boy: stir that pot...and all what's in it!"
She wander'd 'round the cloister night and day;
her green Rolls Royce turn'd right, then sped away.
To foist her on our fam'ly...? Bad idea:
she's Joyce Terrazzo; she's got diarrhea.
Her uncle work'd a hoist; her aunt...? No way!
(I play'd Ralph Roister Doister in that play.)
