Lads, I just watched the Black Pigeon video on western women. I know that I need to dominate this Polish lass. She likes a lad to take control of her, it's why she got so fucking horny when I took her as mine (only snogging but she was really fucking into it, gripped on my back really tight a couple times) on a night out with friends. I'll say my bit to her, explain some things (explain away why I said she seemed a slag) then snog the shit out of her. Make her mine
This cunts granddaddy was a bigshot Greek at the UN who stole millions in backhanders from Congolese development aid and bought prime real estate in Greece and London Despite rolling in it his dad and uncle lived in council flats and handouts from the British tax payer Once had a long chat with one of their Camden m8s **Typical Greeks. Thieving bastards
SEE you the ferny ride that steals Into the oak-woods far? 0 that was whence they hewed the keels That rolled to Trafalgar. And mark you where the ivy clings To Bayharn's mouldering walls? 0 there we cast the stout railings That stand around St. Paul's.
See you the dimpled track that runs All hollow through the wheat? 0 that was where they hauled the guns That smote King Philip's fleet.
(Out of the Weald, the secret Weald, Men sent in ancient years, The horse-shoes red at Flodden Field, The arrows at Poitiers!)
See you our little mill that clacks, So busy by the brook? She has ground her corn and paid her tax Ever since Domesday Book.
See you our stilly woods of oak, And the dread ditch beside? 0 that was where the Saxons broke On the day that Harold died.
See you the windy levels spread About the gates of Rye? 0 that was where the Northmen fled, When Alfred's ships came by.
See you our pastures wide and lone, Where the red oxen browse? 0 there was a City thronged and known, Ere London boasted a house.
And see you, after rain, the trace Of mound and ditch and wall? 0 that was a Legion's camping-place, When Caesar sailed from Gaul.
And see you marks that show and fade, Like shadows on the Downs? 0 they are the lines the Flint Men made, To guard their wondrous towns.
Trackway and Camp and City lost, Salt Marsh where now is corn- Old Wars, old Peace, old Arts that cease, And so was England born.
She is not any common Earth, Water or wood or air, But Merlin's Isle of Gramarye, Where you and I will fare.