Our thing progresses I call and you come through Blow all my friendships To sit in hell with you But we’re the greatest They’ll hang us in the Louvre Down the back, but who cares? Still the Louvre.
Our thing progresses I call and you come through Blow all my friendships To sit in hell with you But we’re the greatest They’ll hang us in the Louvre Down the back, but who cares? Still the Louvre.
Ding ding! Correct! I have battled the annoying brass brats though, so I guess we can call it even.
TUMB is near-sighted.
"I've got dreams like you--no really!--just much less, touchy-feeley. They mainly happen somewhere warm and sunny on an island that I own, tanned and rested and alone surrounded by enormous piles of money." -Flynn Rider, Tangled
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