You you you indeed, Mr Ploos.
Best mind the ribs when fox trottin' doon tha lane, twinkle toes. Pick ye a partner what's not got a silver medal in Olympic weight liftin'. They hold their partners too keen aroond tha middle. Crikey. Bruised a rib? No moore trippin' tha light fandango, matey. Could crush yer pencils on yer way to the boos.