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It's probably just me, but every time I think of Rolling Rock I think "From the glass-lined urinals of old Latrobe.." because my grandfather LOVED Rolling Rock and every time he had one he'd say that.
Whenever someone mentions Elk, PA or the Boy Scouts of America I think "In the foothills of the Alleghenies..." because my brother worked a few summers at Elk Lick Boy Scout Camp and every time we went to pick him up someone would start it in the car.
I associate strange poetry with things.
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