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York, York, don't be mad.
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Byron was starving and we're thirsty.
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Don't kick us out, we're too weak to go anywhere else.
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The soup has garlic.
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Oh, then no. The salmon, please.
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Bring her the damn soup, she ain't kissing nobody tonight.
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And I'll have the free-range chicken
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that thought it had a chance.
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For your help. Byron wants you to have it.
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Well, Byron is the only real old-fashioned thing in here.
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I hope you both survive the winter.
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Hey, can I join you?