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A Sticky End
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....and so it begins
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"Oh woe is me, I'll never be a proper man!", he'd wail
(Perpetually virginal and literal epic fail)
So he rode forth one fatal day, with bottles of this potion
So he rode forth one fatal day, with bottles of this potion
(sorry, unintended repeat there...)
He sold it countrywide; it needed no promotion
[Rosie] Might he have marketed it instead?
(Raak) Yeah, OK. Better rhythm.
He plied the folk from Kent to Stoke with samples of his brew
And, no mistake, left in his wake was plenty "How d'Ye Do"
The Potters and the Kentish Men found all their cares had flown
And not just that, it seemed that several other things had grown
For hops, it seemed, grew everywhere, even in his garden
From these he brewed some dreadful stuff and sent it to Bin Laden.
To his flat in Abbottabad the package was delivered
It smelled like the bottom of a goat and feverishly quivered.
Bin Laden, macho to a fault, knocked it back in one
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