I tell you this is not the Moor’s mooring.
A biscuit in the mouth cuts the roarers’ roaring
to a dull mumble, let’s drink to a stumble,
if bees are few, think of the markup on the bumble!
I haul them, I haul them as I haul
six sets of septuplets in a beat U-Haul
with drawings of Roswell, with quotations from Boswell,
with Advil I guess it’s all’s well that ends swell,
much like painkillers with their deal –
pop them two at a time it’s all’s swell that ends feel,
pop ten with Fris, Ambien, and it’s glory
til your OD’s 2 column inches of a Metro page story.
Some Like It Hot, not As You Like It.
No one’s looking now, but we got nothing to spike it.
The rear’s steering, the steer’s rearing,
the steerer’s been catapulted into the clearing,
Comes back as a bearer bearing a bear,
comes back as a herring hearing a hare,
comes back as a sin sinning the sinner,
comes back as a diner dining on dinner.
Ignore the miner shining the mine,
or the wayward Shriner mining the shine,
the shiner shrine, it heals in time
then we start over with a sock full of dimes.
If you’re here then who’s minding the store?
If you’re baring all, please close the door.
If your mind’s on a sale at The Door Store,
then buy a $1,000 chair for your bare floor.
If dollars are few, the floor will do,
sixteen locks on the door will do
nothing to stop the window thief,
three missing panes turns doubt to belief,
three missing panes turns cold to colder,
six missing meals turns the meek to the bolder,
six missing sets of septuplets – pulled to the shoulder.
“We had a load of bumbles, but by now we’ve sold her,”
we tell a Statie in a hattie that he looks like Fox Mulder
who writes us up cause our inspection sticker’s older
a little out of date (like two years) than it should be
such are the stings and arrows when you bring the bumble to the bee.