I got married in a fever, one July when the Jukebox was Jammin’ in a place called Jackson to a girl named June.
. . . . . . . had no choice. The constant valentines’ from the hogs did my head in and my second cousin had a wart on her nose. It was even bigger than mine so our love was basically doomed. June was busting out all over like she always did and quite frankly I liked playing with her squeeze-box so sue me
(thought I’d share that . . . . .)
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