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Wen he gets (up) in de mornin' he feels bad, and wen (he) goes to bed at night he feels wusser. He tinks dat his body is made ob ice cream, all 'cept his heart, and dat - dat's a piece ob lead in de middle. All sorts ob sights are hubbering around, and red monkeys is buzzing about his ears... (D)em's what I calls de bloos - Sam Jonsing, in an 1839 New Orleans newspaper
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0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic. Great! Now all you need is a washboard player and someone on gut-bucket bass. So far, no one around my neck of the woods has shot us for doing that kind of thing. (Our tenor player has started banging a few tunes on the uke; he's looking for a banjo-uke.)
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