Oh, we must cut the Tinz some slack. If you had to endure that wan brauschweiger while spread out on topper you, your mind would probably go on a field trip, too.
At times like this my ancestors on the Yankee side -- 10 generations of Southampton clamdiggers -- get the urge to arm themselves and take a peasant's revenge on those who have spoiled the name WASP.
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There are mountains in our way
But we climb steps every day
Love lift us up where we belong
Where the eagles cry, on a mountain high
Love lift us up where we belong
Far from the world we know
Up where the clear winds blow.
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