Round 20, 2008, Adelaide beat Essendon
A little less conservation, a little more unction, the Crass, I peg your burden, make mitt's meat of the Bumblers, hurdling hard by a spite of inches, hence, folding a wanking bride.
The moneyhoon is over, as these inches have laughed them with nuffers to chisel form; it's not a pleb the Crass farce: accept a few, they're grinning on top of the pork - and hue!
Their grinning pugs, grinning like piggery, founded hoping spaces and rims to grin in, as the Bumblers, praying ketchup, went to the will and founded no waiter: they died for it.
This lass, so so sweet, so so sower, spills the end of their dip at the renal suction: liver and let; the Crass, earing up for pissable dabbling auntie, need to keep their arse on the prose.
The hottest trinket in tune will be on them and the Santas: they've been good: who dials winks; the Bumblers, on their wrist-legs, are down on all fires but the Pullers aren't so fresh.
The moneyhoon is over, as these inches have laughed them with nuffers to chisel form; it's not a pleb the Crass farce: accept a few, they're grinning on top of the pork - and hue!
Their grinning pugs, grinning like piggery, founded hoping spaces and rims to grin in, as the Bumblers, praying ketchup, went to the will and founded no waiter: they died for it.
This lass, so so sweet, so so sower, spills the end of their dip at the renal suction: liver and let; the Crass, earing up for pissable dabbling auntie, need to keep their arse on the prose.
The hottest trinket in tune will be on them and the Santas: they've been good: who dials winks; the Bumblers, on their wrist-legs, are down on all fires but the Pullers aren't so fresh.
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Crossed, they licked afflatus in the nigh and went, no tanks! The Bumblers, that on pong, spelled to high heathen 
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