Boobs.
My dog.
Clothes straight out of the dryer.
Fire, but not touching me.
Boobs.
My dog.
Clothes straight out of the dryer.
Fire, but not touching me.
Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho'(though) the soldiers knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.
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