It's Friday morning and like little Jack Thorner I'm sat in the corner. Alright, hold ypur horses. I'm not eating my curds and whey. I cant buy these at Sainbury's at Newcastle Central Station where I live. But I certainly put in my thumb and pulled out a plum. What a good boy am I.
Dirt Buyer's Dirt Buyer III. ticks requisite grunge related boxes of iGreat American ntrospection and undolence for those who can't get out of bed and aren't even sure if they're planning to do so. It's a mellow record for duvet days. It strays sometimes to feeling overly sorry for itself but hey, that's all part of the Rock & Roll quilt.
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