AN EXTRACT FROM THE VULGATE, I BELIEVE
When I was four hundred years aged,
I found that I needed a stethescope
and a couple of Pan's best tubas to rouse the living current in me.
I didn't know what is it they strung around a beanpole.
It's kind, even so, if it's an easily frozen mop.
So this memorial I get for getting the pants drop
is strained the suspension on Easter Lake bridge.
Stop with stripes on, and what if didn't
lined up? It wouldn't be to go corrupt.
If they'd lined up the trumpets, damn they would have fired them.
It wasn't corrupt no stack!
Finding to see which goes roars, and defends the trumpets.
For rust, you know, creeps on them.
Plus, step on it — the fugue is in chase of us.
Friends, I do freeze the findings, for later perusal.
And every available penguin vasectomy record.
Von Steig, I think I win this time.
Press right foot, turtle foot, into the tent.