I ruminate I shall have to pass,
As your poem strikes me, alas,
Tis the sort of thing to bring
From men who can't sing,
And it's making you look quite the ass.
I ruminate I shall have to pass,
As your poem strikes me, alas,
Tis the sort of thing to bring
From men who can't sing,
And it's making you look quite the ass.
I met your AABB and raised you a Limerick, sir.
I'm sure you know what I'll ask next
As the random lass
Who called me an ass
How does a man sing in text?