What I see, must be, now, to worry for not to happen, eating a waxed breaded sandwich in the middle of 1900 and yesterday. Shut your mouth! What you saying? No! There's a sack hanging in your head with your brains in it, eating stump-chopped, sooty, corroded biscuits and bat knee soup in a gas mask. What that is, what that ain't, now! For the wisdom without feathers, give me that ticket, cause I'm waiting to see if I'm gonna change my mind. What that is, what that ain't, what that could be before it ain't was, yes it is coming back tomorrow, is it now? What that is, I say! What that is! What that is, I say! What that is!
