I had a scab
And picked it off
and as I puck,
It made me barf
I yanked too much
and as I yunk
I realised it stank and stunk
I sticked the scab back on real quick
And as I stuck it made me sick
The scab just wouldn’t go back on
The underneath all freshly torn
It yawned at me just like a mouth
And sported teeth – what’s that about?
I gave a slap right to its gob
And as I slup, it grew a knob
The fuck was this? Was I too late?
My scab wanted to procreate?
I hit the thing about ten times
And as I hat, I made up rhymes
The knob unshagged, it withered in
Defeat and shamed unshug chagrin
And yes, I wrote a rhyme about
A cock that from a scab did spout
And as it spite, I played a game
Called “what the fuck, ol’ Linda’s brain?”
I’ll stop right there, I’ve no more words
And now I’ve stup, what have I learned?
I think the scab upon my knee
Did cause some oddball poetry
The goo was green
The flesh was pink
I’ll leave my scabs alone, I think.


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