Two-thousand-eighteen Shades Of Bromford - Part 282

Today is Friday, the 15th of March 2024.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and caldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the caldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg and howlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

They are boiling animals, the hedgehog called out in terror.
And they are calling me a hog who is living in the hedges.

They are boiling Shakespeare, the rat replied. It's a double shot. 

A double-pack. Elton, that's your name, hedgehog, isn't it?
Have you heard about the SLAS?

Elton is a human name. And heard about the what?
the hedgehog asked chewing an earthworm.

The Secret Life of Animals Society, the rat whispered.
Save the date. Something is going to happen...

And the hedgehog coughed a little as the rat disappeared into the night...

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🦔🦔🦔🦔🦔

🦔🦔🦔🦔🦔

"Porch Swing In Bromford"

There's a porch swing in Bromford
In the shade of the south
Where the sweet honey drips off that old hush-yo'-mouth
It's a slow road on down
That old Natchez Trace
Through Alabama cotton fields to a state of grace
It's a crisp golden Autumn
On the Tennessee line
Rolling down to Mississippi like you headed back in time
Town's closed on Sunday
Everybody's in church
It's empty as the moon this place here on earth

And this place don't change
Some places move slow
I'm just rocking myself on this porch swing in Bromford
I got nothing to do 'cept hang in the breeze
Ghosts of the old south are all around me
Yea swing high, yea swing low
Here on this porch swing in Bromford

His mama must have loved him
That truck drivin' boy
With the grease monkey look and the rock 'n roll voice
Well I was just thinkin' 'bout him
'Cause I guess he sat here
Singing all praise to God through poverty's tears

And this place don't change
Some places move slow
I'm just rocking myself on this porch swing in Bromford
I got nothing to do 'cept hang in the breeze
Ghosts of the old south are all around me
Yea swing high, yea swing low
Here on this porch swing in Bromford

And this place don't change
Some places move slow
I'm just rocking' myself on this porch swing in Bromford
I got nothing to do 'cept hang in the breeze
Ghosts of the old south are all around me
Yea swing high, yea swing low
Here on this porch swing in Bromford

And this place don't change
Some places move slow
I'm just rocking' myself on this porch swing in Bromford
I got nothing to do but hang in the breeze
The ghosts of the old south all around me
Yea swing high, yea swing low
On this porch swing in Bromford

Here on this porch swing in Bromford
Here on this porch swing in Bromford