Hyram’s aceing a test. Lowell’s testing
an ace.
He runs fliers he tries through a
three-legged race.
Hyram’s booking the cooks. Lowell’s
cooking the books
His report’s deem'd ill- (-egible, -egal)
– by crooks!
Hyram’s counting the dogs. Lowell’s
dogging the Count.
He tracks vampires and ghouls on his
Lipizzan mount.
Hyram’s ducking a plane. Lowell’s
planing a duck.
First he peels off its eider, bypassing
the chuck.
Hyram ends with a bang. Lowell’s bang’d
up the end
of a Volkswagen Beetle he bought off a
friend.
Hyram’s flying the coop. Lowell coops up
the flies
he extracts from an octogenarian’s eyes.
Hyram’s guarding the eggs. Lowell’s
egging the guard
who requested his papers at new Scotland
Yard.
Hyram’s holding the line. Lowell’s
lining the hold
of his cheese-laden ship, thereby stemming
the mould.
Hyram’s inking the press. Lowell’s
pressing the ink.
His gall’s wrung from squashed octopi. (Why
do you think?)
Hyram’s judging a paste. Lowell’s pasting
a judge
with a nickel-filled condom. (He will
hold a grudge.)
Hyram’s junking a post. Lowell’s posting
his junk.
Look who’s liked him on Facebook! (The
man is no monk.)
Hyram’s kneading the bread. Lowell’s
breading his knee.
(He dusts elbows with cake crumbs as
well. He’s too twee.)
Hyram’s leaving his post. Lowell’s
posting his leaves,
fronds he mails to a pen pal for stems
he receives.
Hyram’s milking the bees. Lowell’s “being
the milk.”
(He admires Stanislavski and folk of
that ilk.)
Hyram’s nursing his paw. Lowell’s pawing
his nurse.
(Once she’s emptied his bed pan he’ll rifle
her purse.)
Hyram orders the plaice. Lowell places
an order
for heuvos
rancheros at South o’ the Border.
Hyram’s pumping the iron. Lowell’s
ironing the pump.
When sufficiently flat, it’s removed to
the dump.
Hyram’s queering the deal. Lowell’s
dealing the queer
nowt but deuces and treys. (Himself?
Aces, I fear.)
Hyram’s running a race. Lowell’s racing
the runs.
Will he get to the loo before soiling
his buns?
Hyram’s salting a wound. Lowell’s
wounding a salt –
jabbing jolly Jack Tar, though ‘twas
nowt Jackie’s fault.
Hyram’s tying the knot. Lowell’s
knotting the tie
he employs to destroy kittens. (Turn a
blind eye!)
Hyram utters a note. Lowell’s noting an
udder:
“Your sow’s teat’s too huge!” Lowell’s
o’erheard to mutter.
Hyram’s voting for change. Lowell’s
changing his vote.
He’s electing the train with a gravy-fill’d
boat.
Hyram’s wining his date. Lowell’s dating
his wine.
He pretends to pour Dom Perignon ’89.
Hyram x-rays the loo. Lowell loses the
x-ray
revealing what dinosaur elbows and necks
weigh.
Hyram’s yanking your chain. Lowell’s
chaining your Yank.
(As to which state your Yank’s from I’m drawing a blank.)
Hyram zones through a play. Lowell plays
through a zone.
(
Once his dribble improves, he’ll be fa-a-a-ar better known.)
