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While Judge Mental’s rhymes may quite please,
He’ll still have to clutch to the trees.
He’s quite a lightweight
And bound to be late
If there even the slightest old breeze.
Now Arahant’s starting the hate
Knowing weather will not be his fate
The wind it may blow
And wild rivers flow
But nothing will move that much weight.
Damned straight!
Industrial smokestacks have now passed
And the years when we ever were gassed,
But the vicinity
Of Judge’s somninity
Is covered in smoke to the last.
?
He’s reaching.
What started as poetry porn
Has descended now far into scorn
But give him a care
It’s really not fair
That the poor guy can only eat corn.
No, purely making stuff up in the Ogden Nash style. Related to soma=body and somnambulant and a few other things.
Well, the taunting has to go back at least to the early Middle Ages…