ain't that the truth...

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un krutākais hipsters joprojām ir Lords Baklijs.

Hipsters, flipsters, and finger-poppin' daddies,
Knock me your lobes,
I came to lay Caesar out,
Not to hip you to him.
The bad jazz that a cat blows,
Wails long after he's cut out.
The groovey is often stashed with their frames,
So don't put Caesar down.

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šitas i skaisti

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