Wpis z mikrobloga

It was a moonlit night in old Mexico.
I walked alone between some old adobe haciendas.
Suddenly, I heard the plaintive cry of a young Mexican girl
You better come home, Speedy Gonzales
Away from tannery row
Stop all a your a-drinkin'
With that floozy named Flo
Come on home to your adobe
And slap some mud on the wall
The roof is leakin' like a strainer
There's loads a roaches in