Ala bam a
Balladeer loved to write
It gave him pleasure and delight,
As in a fever he was gripped,
Writin' down poetic script.
He wrote while standing on one foot,
Then wrote about it in a book,
And when the book was finally over,
He'd change his foot and write another.
His writing was so microscopic,
That he could write on any topic
On the smallest little suckers,
Like postage stamps and his pecker.
While on his finger nails well bitten,
Were silly rhymes that he had written.
He hardly had an inch of skin,
Where something wasn't written in.
To see him standing in the nude
You'd think perhaps he'd been tattoo'd
And you could read him like a book,
If he'd let ya take a look.
Some areas of his annotations
I'll leave to your imaginations,
But I have seen a poetry line,
Running up and down his spine,
Around his neck, down to his heart,
Ends with an exclamation mark!
And there were poems around his calves,
'Bout fruit and cuttin' down Toerag.
While every little squirm or wriggle,
Exposed a tiny poem or scribble.
In his armpit where 'hair'd been there,
He wrote one 'bout LongJohn the Sailor.
Sky writing was a later fad,
His memory then was getting bad,
He stopped the plane to dot an "i"
And tumbled from the word filled sky.
Well after all, he'd had his time,
Chastising Toe across the sky
His friends were sad and wore black cloth,
But finally, they wrote him off.
[This message has been edited by Toerag (edited 09-13-99).]