Reaver Titan Interior

thingiverse

Potato, potato, love of all loves; potatoes, potatoes, sweet hallowed nubs. Skinned or with peel, boiled, roasted, or fried; potatoes carry all of Ireland's pride. All who enjoy them I'm sure would agree; potatoes above all foods are lovely. To the strange critic, who scowls with contempt; you shall not sway me with your foul attempt. Potato, potato, I call to thee; please come salted and rich, so buttery! Potato, potato, I'll sing again; potato, potato, please be my friend.