When surface from a four day crash, bluebottle gobbed, and hear the children call you maggot mouth, and rise to find they've roped your guts, so fall you jessop. They crown you king cantaloupe, and gob you up a synapse bomb, so now your hooting leathersnake, not clocking you've been prammed, to serenade the door of your ex wife, clocking glares of ice. Then find you've wandered back to school, and frit the squabs, and now here comes a teacher with a copper. Then welcome, ooh fuss fuss fuss, welcome in Jam.
| Name | Type | Role | |
|---|---|---|---|
| Christopher Morris | Writer |