The Other Shoe Will Drop
What he wanted was a Michelin meal
What he got was the blue plate special
An abstract concept in the art of the deal
While his flunkies performed a courte-echel
He looked so dejected, so utterly confused
While the cool kids partied round the corner
A droopy poopy loner, so battered and bruised
the setting was suited for a funereal mourner.
I wonder what his Mrs. said as he looked away
"You owe me meester plenty for dis fine deesplay."
M.I.A. his spawn and that funny looking one
Brittany? Muffy? Taffy? and the silent son.
Who dares knock at his chamber door
To appease the angry beast?
Firing away with his tiny thumb so sore
All gatherings and parties will be forever ceased.
No signs of fat faux kings or a circus clown
no tacos, Cheetos, leopard
Or when Dumpty Trumpty falls down.
Secure, he feels safe from his own petard
blasting swathes of bridges burning
He leaves upheaval in his wake
While the planet keeps on turning
We pray his soul to take.
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