On Jun 30, 9:32 am, Rob <r...@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
> wrote:
> The Duck sage speaks of modesty: "I am not vain but I /do/ have supreme
> confidence in my art."
>
> For the next edition we eagerly await: "I do not write unspeakably ****
> gibberish but I do bliggs**** mumf dukkidy."
>
> Rob
>
A farmer's duck came into rap,
His christian name was Will;
His peckertrap would drijbble crap
And follow it with swill.
He'd drijbble on each subject and
He'd crap on every poast,
For crapping was "the thing he does,"
And drijbbling his boast.
He'd crap on his "sup****ters," too,
Not only those he hated:
"Sup****ters" only loved his poo,
And "friends" were "overrated."
The rapizens refreshed their board
(So did aapc)
To scoff the horde of crap he poured
And spank his every pee,
But Duck would sniff out every post
To lick up all the stench an'
Loudly toast the Holy Ghost
For all the free attention.
He rubbed his "chest" on every leg,
His tongue on every butt,
And when they'd egg his last empeg,
He'd wiggle like a mutt.
He drijbbled **** through every thread
Then waddled back to poast
What who had said that he had said
Of who had loved him most,
And who had said he said they said
Who had or hadn't said it,
And who he said they said he said
They hadn't even read it.
For seven years, poor r.a.p.
Knew onomatopoeia,
But plopping, see, 's no mystery:
The Duck had diarrhea.
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