Mothers are the gardeners Of wind-blown wild flowers. They water them with happy tears, Happy with them many years, Even as the hours Ring with sweet, sad melodies Sighing through their bowers.
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Spammers are what gardeners Use to fert'lise flowers, Above ground they're pollution Wasting many people's hours. So get yourself beneath the ground, you dumb moronic cretin, (This verse is sure a waste of time, you'll read this not, I'm bettin'.)
Tiddy Ogg.
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