Lapping Up Yugglay

There is this place

Where pain is like gravy.

In the country of Poutine.

And pain, as it likes,

Sticks to places it delights.

Tween clean fork tynes and mother’s fingers nails.

It’s there pal, don’t you look,

Cause by hook or sticky crook,

Pain and the mother of pain gonna fi eyend you.

Thank you, friend.

Barry out.

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