Can of consciousness.
So far the flack has flown over flowing flowery hillsides in key west... (that's Florida for the fellows who don't know a flippin' thing). For corn-FLAKEs, I can't fish when I'm flushed in the face.. It's all that mace in my face, maize in my face. I enjoy popcorn with my socks drawn and held at 2 ninety degree angles. I don't mind if they're worn so long as to keep my feet warm for lorn in the the cold scorn of a Canadian winter season. With reason of course, you wouldn't do without the sport. I can't endourse that horse. He won't win : don't bet on him. Your lovers grin shouldn't spin you to bet on him. Your lovers chin might though so BE CAREFUL! It's a dareful venture, let's seat on this bench here, think for a minute. Chew the meat, look at our feet, our fleet. Of diligent toes from boskow to moskow, I think fritzy is the only one who'll stick around when the moneys gone, then we'd both be out of a job and off balance cause I'll be leaning on you and i'll be fat at the sad loss of my toe fleet, nothing to capture my toe fleece. My socks vacant and my shoes unaware, I'll know what they've done - where they've left me - where I'd run.
