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The only thing I don’t like About sittin on the porch On a warm summer night Is bugs in my beer. Now, I don’t mind too much A little knat or mosquito, They don’t amount to all that. But when it gets to something The size of a fly, Well You never know what they’ll… Continue reading (I don’t like) Bugs in my beer.

I wish to wake beneath an ancient spreading oak, on moist, mossy, grassy soil, and lie there, casually enjoying the dawn.