What Mighty Woes To Thy Imperial Race

How Delicate Her Feet Who Shuns The Ground, Stepping A-tiptoe On The Heads Of Men.

From Now On Walking Is My Beer And Feeling Good Is My Hangover.

I Discovered A Meal Between Breakfast And Brunch.

Sinks My Sad Soul With Sorrow To The Grave.

A Boy Without Mischief Is Like A Bowling Ball Without A Liquid Center.