No Peppermint Drops
The clouds are filled with bicycles
And hebephrenic nuns
Who often scoop up RiciclesŪ
And give themselves the runs
That's why it's raining 'Holy Shit'
On all who dwell below
In what we, fondly, call The Pit
To honor E. A. Poe
For we are febrile poetists
Complete with ham and cheese
And, though we have a go at cysts,
Their puncture ain't no breeze
That's why our limbs are quarter-size
Like George's head, on coins
While Laura Bush has thunder thighs
And massive oxen loins
Envoi:
To cauterise redundant dross
Expunge this poem - without loss
(Be not so cross--it's not good joss)
(The secret's in The Special Sauce)
Contributors: | Nym, Kevin Andrew Murphy, Apsley, loaf, Kansas Sam, asdf, F. |
Poem finished: | 12th June 2006 by loaf. |