He scratches his head as if he’s got fleas
His brain is ablaze with a rhyming disease
He lights his pipe full of magic herbs
Is that where he draws his inspiration from

A renaissance man in a hat with a feather
He owns 12 pairs of assless chaps made of leather
His poems make you work up quite a lather
His mind’s on an edge of black pit and it tethers

Is he a man, a god, or a sinner
Farts smell of beer and a mustache of reefer
He’s the original W M D
He licks his red pencil let the good times begin

A legend, a retahd, a scholar of words
The poems he writes are the best that I’ve hoid
A yoinking chameleon always dodges Y!Police
But to get back to the original point I was trying to make, I think indeed he has fleas.

Here kitty-kitty-kitty….


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