I was Slammin' with my sisters
In a special room,
With my fingers getting blisters
Spelling out my doom.
It's a place of mirth and sometimes gloom
(I found it this way)
But three Queens use thier magic broom
To sweep the grime away.
Into this room, I wrote one day,
Expecting not to win.
And when I did, there I chose to play
With a big'ole shiny grin.
You see, I don't have to have a cow, if I forget my pen,
In here, they heartily bloom.
In fact, they grow quite nice, and never ever thin,
In the glow of the Green Room!
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