French tips, mandarin; banjo and a mandolin (Patreon)

French tips, mandarin; banjo and a mandolin

And it came to pass in the days of the fret and the finger,Vanity and vexation cause a soul to linger, IGot damned for a mandarin, just measure'inBut the hip went first in the winepress and set a man-to-win

Dip, therefore, in the bowl,And pick the lot as it falls before the foal and the lily.Oh god almighty, it's a little bit silly

For the sick man is cleaner than her garden,And the sin was not of fruit, but of countingAnd the Lord said unto the nail, be filedBut not broken.And he smiled

Because the orange gave tongue in a strange land,And the small-gutted instrument groaned bad.And we all stood tall at the gate withA measure and a half, and a coo and a laughAnd all were on God's pathAnd the tip was counted unto him as nothingFor the hips entered into the coveningBut all were made a fool becauseNone knew he was bluffingIt's nothingI broke myself for somethingI must because I'm not nothingAnd I do not compenseTo sin is to dispenseThere's nothing left to chance!!!

French tips, mandarin; banjo and a mandolinThou shalt dip the branch where the water's still,And the winnowing fork shall choose for thee in silenceFor the sick man lie'eth down with the whole,

And Eve ate not of the appleYet the fig tree withered in her shadow.