789 To The Nths

I'm thinking of those innocent dead amish girls. And how much I 'ate a martial uniform on the popo; so you're a commissar, for this you need gold piping and stars? And how much I 'ate my last post and every other one where I showed a sense of caring, because people only sneer at, or stomp to, the sight of it. I know, not you. You're the good kind of sunshine and raisin sweet, fine, sugar cane then, one of the finer substitutes. I go off because we won't, this is a dream ride, why shouldn't I sweat through its fine leather bindings? I 'ate you all.