He was unable to possess Lucy's hand as he had in the cinema, separated by the annoying chasm between the van's plush seats. Abruptly he gripped her wrist. 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. Keep his arms down. Don’t leave me.
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This video was uploaded to southmsnightout.com on 23-06-2024 21:35:32
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