Jane, Jane, tall as a crane!
Did I hear the word whiskey?
A great many people now reading and writing would be better employed keeping rabbits
We will have beer for lunch
The final crumbling of the rusty triangle
Dead, the leaves that like asses’s ears hung on the trees
Huge glasses of sloe gin
Yellow, meaningless, and shrill
I am an unpopular electric eel in a pool of catfish
No liking but all lust
Old people do have falls