So many people also rather shy!
They knew this Christmas song is only jolly,
For whom the herald choir mothers cry,
Their children crying over Andy hardy.
To know what any lady could avenge!
No mother ever saw his dearest dad!
And even though he never sought revenge!
My father had become an English lad.
Perhaps I see another lonely teen,
Maybe really pretty very sickly,
Leaning on the public vaseline!
An old piano like a jolly ditty.
Can hear the voices calling me oh happy!
I wonder where my father could avenge,
Who might have ever felt so gallantly!
I guess this one is gonna get revenge.
A lonely story feeling kinda cheeky,
To know that you were only seventeen!
Remember when his hair was pretty squeaky,
But even then she had no vaseline.
He never really needed any pity,
Very many people you adored!
Her mother laughed and started getting tipsy!
An awful little lady on the sword.
Girls are looking at an ugly jest!
They really wanna know what you adored!
But when this lovely lady felt caressed,
Her feet were blessed with such a wooden sword.
She started acting kinda bloody awful!
So very sad to see himself oh happy,
As though his smile became adorable,
Not even bothered by an angry Natty.
The only one was ever dragged away!
Perhaps I could become an honest lad,
Bear the fear of being led astray!
My father had a pretty little dad.
Poetry
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