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Jan. 10th, 2010 @ 06:15 am riding down the lane, snuffing tobacco-weed, sipping on juniper and turpentine
Current Music: The Gourds - Gin and Juice
O, have I maidens in the sitting room,
Be getting on, for they depart not 'fore
The cock is risen, six at morn, so what
Or whom be done? Confound thine chamberpot,
or chambers thine. My fob-sack brims with skins
Of noblest lamb; my knaves garment their knobs
With prophylactic raiments similar!
So extinguish the torches, gates be shut
As well. But what? What, ho? The love with which
We plow our seed be not thine truest love,
but that which be for garden implements.
So light thine pipes, dear sirs, with tinctures green,
Knave up, dames down; lend ears, and bounce to this!
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From:erf_
Date:January 11th, 2010 06:55 am (UTC)
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Wilmot would have been far more blunt. It was the Bard who was all about inneundo and stupid puns. Wilmot, on the other hand, cared even less for subtlety; gangsta rap in his style would be almost too easy.
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From:erf_
Date:January 11th, 2010 06:56 am (UTC)
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I actually lifted some of these puns from the Bard himself.

If my mind is in the gutter, I swim in the piss of giants.