Right in her den
She held those men
A group of ten
With no more zen

Her hair will wrap
Her eyes will trap
Her hands will strap
Her mouth will rap

And poor men melt
Once they have felt
The words she spelt
And sweets she dealt

This small world thrives
With lots of knives
To slit the lives
That left their hives.



Take your pick
To be sick
Of his trick
Or a chick

Make a stand
For your land
With a band
Hand in hand

Blue and red
Head to head
Will you dread
What might spread

It is done
What a run
From the one
With a pun.


She gave me a brush
But I had to shush
So why did she hush
And leave in a rush

I’m here with a tool
It shows what a fool
I’ve been in my school
To not know the rule

Life is what we paint
For us to go taint
And be a good saint
But that’s what I ain’t

I’ll splash all that red
There’s some on my bed
A sight that I dread
It looks like she’s dead.


When they can fool
We must stay cool
Or be a tool
Who cleans their pool

To know their tricks
And hurl some bricks
Fill up their mix
With lots of ticks

If they won’t care
To check what’s there
Go find a chair
And watch them swear

Cause in that graph
They’ll find their staff
Cut right in half
For us to laugh.