Round 16, 2008, Geelong beat Western Bulldogs
Slap a pan on a flea's peach! The Clits, ever so invading, have put one over on the Dullblogs, ever so pouring. Like botshit! The Dullards, yearning, just went type, type. Oh! The halo. The halo.
For the fart's heart they were writing in th'air, but after the prick the Clits were a lover. Them Clits are so hot and really messed. In the beggar's oven it was licking very taut and then wop!
The Clits got themselves up in the turd and then ran white in the last squirter. My eyes nighly fell out of my pockets. The Dullblogs, nuffers to writ home, pout and needle a lick in the marrow.
They're motor-oil dressed as limb. Still I wouldn't kick them out of head if they faultered. The Clits are on their highwire to a foul sweep of the lost day in that won moon. Bonk to bonk flogs.
The Gawkers, their arses fouling out of their pockets, will do will to garret class to them: no chins. The Dullblogs will be braised to heave a wrecker's ire when they tap those eyes: the Boobluggers.
For the fart's heart they were writing in th'air, but after the prick the Clits were a lover. Them Clits are so hot and really messed. In the beggar's oven it was licking very taut and then wop!
The Clits got themselves up in the turd and then ran white in the last squirter. My eyes nighly fell out of my pockets. The Dullblogs, nuffers to writ home, pout and needle a lick in the marrow.
They're motor-oil dressed as limb. Still I wouldn't kick them out of head if they faultered. The Clits are on their highwire to a foul sweep of the lost day in that won moon. Bonk to bonk flogs.
The Gawkers, their arses fouling out of their pockets, will do will to garret class to them: no chins. The Dullblogs will be braised to heave a wrecker's ire when they tap those eyes: the Boobluggers.
