Our mother
Who does art at seven
Mallowed by thy game
Thy ring tone comes
Thy shall'st have fun
On earth, by the River Severn
Give us this day
Our daily words said
And forgive us our faux pas
As we forgive those
That faux pas against us
Lead us not into isolation
And deliver us some weevils
For thine is the string pompom
The flower, and short story
For ever, and never
Ah Bisto!
by Jemia