Blue Dogs do bark
when caucuses come into town.
Industry flacks,
financ’d by their PACs,
will cut taxes: what’s up must come down.
Cy Simon met a meta-pieman going to a fair.
Said meta-pieman said to Cy, “Man! You’re displaced, but where?”
Said Cy said to said meta-pieman, “I’m here. What’s so funny...?”
Said meta-pieman, “Funny...? Nope. But can you cope with punny?”
Droll Mother Goose, when her wont was to squander,
would ring Rent-A-Reindeer, reserving a Donder.
Though no soul than me is of Claus faunae fonder,
I fear that, for years, she’s been bilk'd: Blitzen conn'd her!
Needles and pins! Believe me, you guys:
it’s zilch that a Lincoln or Washington buys.
A half Quarter Pounder with small drink and fries
will exhaust ev’ry purse. Frickin’ Mickey D lies.
Little Bo Peep has meep'd her sheep,
not seeming to care she’d malign'd them.
Leave ‘em alone. Recent research has shown.
as they grow, they’ll put Bo’s tales behind them.
Little Jack Horner, ne Jacques (he’s a fore’gner)
puts framboise and peche in his pie.
If he stuck in his thumb, pulling out (say) a plum,
there’d be none more bewilder'd than I.
Jack and Jill went up to Hill,
a bankrupt Benny. After
poor Jack fell down, that tapped-out clown
joined Jill in shrill, daft laughter.)
Ron McDonald’s bought the farm:
E, I, E, I, O.
Doctors warn, “Fools come to harm
when scarfing foodstuffs faux.
In McNuggets, there’s
fecal matter, hairs.
Ronald’s shtick...? Getting sick.
Wouldn’t touch a carrot stick.
Ron McDonald’s bought the farm:
Now he’s eating crow,
a gastronomic ‘ho.’
"The docs all told you so.
So: next time, listen, Bro!
You shoulda just said 'No!'
And now we're done in. Doh!"
Little Ms Muffet reads on her tuffet,
interpreting ‘curds’ and ‘whey.’
“I read ‘em because…well, they’re there. Still, why does
‘Jimmy Buffet’ not rhyme with ‘buffet’?”
Pete, organic pumpkin breeder,
sold his crop to Harris-Teeter.
Gourds this pricey I’ve not seen.
(It’s never easy bein' green.)
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