the mood has to be there to remember
as cold as a witches tit
up and down like a whores nickers
if it wisny for bad luck ye wid ha na luck
what he does not know is not worth knowing and what he does know you could write on the back of a postage stamp
as crabit as a bag o snakes
eyes in yer heid like a s**t house rat
built like a brick s**t house
chattering away like a set o big ends