Our Man in Europe, dave delacroix... Where the Buffalo roam

Our Man in Europe, dave delacroix... Where the Buffalo roam.




ALL THE WORLDS a Strange, this GAL, dat Gal, that bitch out of ROUGE. And the one, that PENIS Song U whistled, the one that got away. All the WORLD, your dynamic, that SUCKER, buss-s your Creation. How do U fold at the knees. How, like a sack of HAMMERS, do U winch as U please, morons, left or right in your path, OXON, Rock star or MATH. I too am a disbeliever.


ALL the GIANTS R within that Continent from which we USURP our beginning. Magnanimous, educated, devout. It-s always tough to come from Ireland, Rhode Island, the Isle of Skye. My Pedigree is worthless. I don-t even drive a Car. A Guy I know in Glasgow wants a BAR with only Beethoven-Mahler on the Juke box..It-s a good idea.


All the GROOVE, a wicked, WHIPLASH-U. Maybe that Country air, that Weekend, that Fair. U were taking turns on the Merry-go-carousels, I was drunk in the beer tent whilst my daughter, future Capitalist, was looking for lost money, scattered on the turf. YOU, shooting Coconut Shy-S! Laughs and Giggles, till the English-Cows came home...HERDS... talking of Dr Hunter S. Thompson down at the local PUB...everyone I ever MET... and where the Buffalo roam.




c2019.davedelacroix