Layla Driffield Whore ❤️❤️

About Glasgow

So, picture this—dim lights, oil slicker’n a pirate’s promise. Hands dancin’ like them gals in Lynch’s flick—mysterious, yeah? “What’s it mean?” I mutter, like Naomi Watts whisperin’ secrets. Had one meself once—lass in Tortuga, fingers like cannon fire, left me wobbly as a ship in storm. Happy? Bloody ecstatic, mate! Surprised too—didn’t know me toes could tingle like that.

You’re Temporarily Blocked

whore and @jarreduphq for having us. @pysmelyn were amazing as usual It is a song about growing up in the market town of Great Driffield.

So, I grab my guitar, head out, and boom! First surprise of the day: the market on the main street. It’s like a mini carnival every Saturday. I’m strollin’ past the stalls, smellin’ all the fresh bread and pastries. I mean, who doesn’t love a good sausage roll, right? I’m munchin’ on one, and this old bloke, right, he starts tellin’ me about his prize-winning turnips. Like, mate, turnips? Really? But I nod along, tryin’ to be polite.

Police appeal following fatal collision in Driffield