Round 21, 2008, Hawthorn beat West Coast
The Gawkers, I shoot you not, get jumped from the forced, hurt back and then rump over the tip of the Costers, canning the crossed, to the tune of severing goats, in front of the fannies.
The Costers, dying as well as a stooge-perfumer, went for the merci rule but no-one was loosening. The Gawkers went for the jocular vain, and the blondes pashed and spluttered, choking.
The Gawkers, a real throat for the big grinner, are gland that they have the pants in the bag, as the Costers, culpable on their own bitch, went wank at the news and lapped to the loin.
The Costers, once were worriers and now lapless psychopants, have had a yawn to forget; while the Gawkers have had one to put in the crapbook, and there's still moo to go!
The Gawkers, herpes high, go into the unction with a chants to give the Boobies a loosen; the Costers, in a smellier boot, bound over for the Coots to slop a stickier on them, and laugh.
The Costers, dying as well as a stooge-perfumer, went for the merci rule but no-one was loosening. The Gawkers went for the jocular vain, and the blondes pashed and spluttered, choking.
The Gawkers, a real throat for the big grinner, are gland that they have the pants in the bag, as the Costers, culpable on their own bitch, went wank at the news and lapped to the loin.
The Costers, once were worriers and now lapless psychopants, have had a yawn to forget; while the Gawkers have had one to put in the crapbook, and there's still moo to go!
The Gawkers, herpes high, go into the unction with a chants to give the Boobies a loosen; the Costers, in a smellier boot, bound over for the Coots to slop a stickier on them, and laugh.
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