Okay, listen up pal,
and listen up good --
there's only one poet
who's queen of this hood.
Bound up and down,
pound on your chest,
you know all these insults
are purely in jest.
The proof's in the pudding
Or so grandma said.
I'll write me a poem
to mess up your head.
So take a seat,
relax your poor brain,
Come the 18th of December,
you go down the drain!
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