"Now, I'm startin' to drain/My stool's gonna squeak/If I walk too much farther/My crane's gonna leak..."
Hardly any bugger's out on Friday night - only the holy core of the Friday Night Boys - the dudes who really matter in this T-bone and punctured world.
Jim's a good old boy, but he's been sniffin' too many eggs and drinkin' too many kegs. Paul can drink like a fish and slam like a drake, while Da is a sweet bourbon daddy. Me? I'm a generous bomb, but I'm known to be calm.
We're meeting at the holy Hotspur in Percy Street at 8pm on Friday. Get down on your knees and pump me a few!
Regards,
Mrs Henry.
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I'm ready for the broom
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