He had imigrate- ful from his little white slum in Barcelover a good thirsty year ago having first secured the handy job as coachman in Scotland. The job was with the Laird of McAnus, a canny old tin whom have a castle in the Highlads. But - and I use the word lightly - the Laird did seem to having some horses, each one sporting a fine pair of legs. Jesus fell in love with them at first sight, as they did with him, which was lucky, because his quarters were in the actually stables along side his noble four lepered friends. Pretty polly one could see Jesus almost every day, grooming his masters horses, brushing their manebits and hammering their teeth, whistling a quaint Spanish refrain dreaming of his loved wombs back home in their little white fascist bastard huts. Being a good catholic, Jesus wiped the spit from his face and turned the other cheese - but she had gone leaving him once small in an agatha of christy.
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A Spaniard In The Works
Spaniard Works by Lennon John, First Edition
A Spaniard in the Works