not the in yet chainsaw, silent liking And I with the substance
firmly in my grasp Am quick to proclaim a triumphant "Eureka!" my
unyielding path is yet crossed by the lowly Moose of Failure. Oh, let us
seek refuge in Antigua Where no one will laugh at my big gut My
pockets empty the shop is shut her cold gaze settled down upon those
about her like so much
I never had any luck with spinners or spoons