You really know how to scorch my shorts,
Rag my rotors, fray my flaps.
Such muddle-headed mutterings
Should bring a child to shame.
Your beastly, bonehead brandishings
Are biting at my heels until I
Feel the strongest urge for
Bashing bones, to slash and maim.
Were I not born to know restraint
You may have fallen hard already,
Punished with a caning stick
For crimes as yet unknown.
But you keep harping, grinding,
Grating, pummeling my patience with
A finely tuned persistence that
Can dig right to the bone.
Oh, please Lord, let my ears fall deaf.
Allow a blessed hush.
This mindless addle prattle
Only aggravates my tush.
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