I've got a pain in my sawdust
That's what's the matter with me
Something is wrong with my little inside
I'm just as sick as can be
Don't let me faint, someone get me a fan
Someone else run for the medicine man
Ev'ryone hurry as fast as you can
I've got a pain in my sawdust
Oh, sad was the day for the little bisque doll For they cut all her stitches away and found the seat of the terrible ache "'Twas a delicate task," they all say For none of the surgeons had ever before Performed on a dolly's inside They tried to re-stuff her but didn't know how And this was her wail as she died
She had a pain in her sawdust.
este não é meu, atenção.
That's what's the matter with me
Something is wrong with my little inside
I'm just as sick as can be
Don't let me faint, someone get me a fan
Someone else run for the medicine man
Ev'ryone hurry as fast as you can
I've got a pain in my sawdust
Etiquetas: dor
Comentários:
a tua mata, para mim, é mais do que feia e fria. eu gosto de coisas frias, e a beleza é relativa. para outro pode ser feia, para mim é magnífica. tem um toque qualquer de sedução que me faz vir cá.
e és uma tonta, porque tu és das pouquíssimas pessoas que nunca pensarei sequer que me imitaram.
e és uma tonta, porque tu és das pouquíssimas pessoas que nunca pensarei sequer que me imitaram.
# publicada por 
:
29 de junho de 2012 às 10:26
:
29 de junho de 2012 às 10:26
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