The plump oère in motion that stinks of boots at the foot of an abandoned cabin in the forest

There you go, after taking a nasty walk in a club, and then some feet, I'm not gonna go.

In the forest, there.

Well, then, I'm gonna bang a moral high grounder, and you.

We're gonna do some good, we're gonna take some relief.

The father of Odurand Branle who stinks of palards in a can at the foot of an abandoned hut.