This put a crimp in my style, so I was determined we were going to find our own place faster than the timetable we'd set ourselves.
[…] and thy broom groves, Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, Being lass-lorn […]
Tell bro “make sure you twos that, yute!”
It would be tempting to see in Malcolm McLaren's final years the descent into amiable bufferdom of a once free spirit, and to conclude that the ---- Establishment always wins in the end.
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