Кто тут???

после виски??? А музе наливать будешь?

Пишите мне в почту

shihan@e1.ru

дааааа,яуж валнаваться начал,неслучилась личё

Мы не такие.

ню ню...
какие?

так приятна, так приятна..*паправела груть*... я в ванную отлучалась))

тока пра хруть наночь не нада ,ато спать не буду)))))

Обойдется.
Самому мало

На неделе напишу

гыы


эта все сонн.. эта соннн.. *меладична пазвинела фейскеми крылышкаме*

ВООООТ...поэтому то она и не идет!!!
НЕ будет седня музыки !!!

просто мичта;-)

Ну, начало уже есть.
И слова есть.
Может кто тут музыку напишет? Я слова выложу.

ОТЛИЧНО!!! ДАВАЙ!

Мне хотя бы пару тактов мелодии. Дальше пойдет. Вот стихи:
============
As I did walk by Hampstead Fair
I came upon Mother Goose -- so I turned her loose --
she was screaming.
And a foreign student said to me --
was it really true there are elephants and lions too
in Piccadilly Circus?

Walked down by the bathing pond
to try and catch some sun.
Saw at least a hundred schoolgirls sobbing
into hankerchiefs as one.
I don't believe they knew
I was a schoolboy.

And a bearded lady said to me --
if you start your raving and your misbehaving --
you'll be sorry.
Then the chicken-fancier came to play --
with his long red beard (and his sister's weird:
she drives a lorry).

Laughed down by the putting green --
I popped `em in their holes.
Four and twenty labourers were labouring --
digging up their gold.
I don't believe they knew
that I was Long John Silver.

Saw Johnny Scarecrow make his rounds
in his jet-black mac (which he won't give back) --
stole it from a snow man.

Я напеваю уже...слышишь?

Нет.
Ты ноты пиши

так не смогу ...НАЛИВАЙ! :-d

Тужься, тужься :-)

[Сообщение изменено пользователем 06.08.2006 03:27]

И Вам не обосраться!

Это ты себе?? Что так все плохо? Что то проглотил?

А ты не лопнешь, деточка?

А я не писаю и не какаю.
У меня всё потиком выходит :-)

The minstrel in the gallery looked down upon the
smiling faces.
He met the gazes --- observed the spaces between the
old men's cackle.
He brewed a song of love and hatred --- oblique
suggestions --- and he waited.
He polarized the pumpkin-eaters --- static-humming
panel-beaters --- freshly day-glow'd factory cheaters
(salaried and collar-scrubbing).
He titillated men-of-action --- belly warming, hands
still rubbing on the parts they never mention.
He pacified the nappy-suffering, infant-bleating
one-line jokers --- T.V. documentary makers
(overfed and undertakers).
Sunday paper backgammon players --- family-scarred
and women-haters.
Then he called the band down to the stage and he
looked at all the friends he'd made.

The minstrel in the gallery looked down on the
rabbit-run.
And threw away his looking-glass - saw his face in
everyone.

Ну и кто тебе жопу зашил?