Fall chores are done. 250 bales of hay are lofted. Seven fleeces are shorn. 56 toes are trimmed.
Oh that magic feeling, nowhere to go
Oh that magic feeling, nowhere to go, nowhere to go…
Fall chores are done. 250 bales of hay are lofted. Seven fleeces are shorn. 56 toes are trimmed.
Oh that magic feeling, nowhere to go
Oh that magic feeling, nowhere to go, nowhere to go…