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Sledge Hammer Poems
I want to sock your Momma, Why, I do not know. Maybe it's her buck-teeth, Maybe it's her fro.
The room is dark, I die. Like painting the wind, it's impossible. If oranges were gray we might call them 'Grays' That would be groovy.
Mi Pito #4
Oh mi pito, mi pito Why are you so perplexing? Oh mi pito, mi pito You're a muscle I'm always flexing.
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
I want to sock your Momma,
Why, I do not know.
Maybe it's her buck-teeth,
Maybe it's her fro.
Your Momma is so ugly,
They should have buried her at birth.
Or at least cut off her face,
And banished it from Earth.
But then the Aliens would be upset,
Oh how they'd be pissed.
Aliens wouldn't talk to your Mom
If she were a Scientologist
Your Mom isn't cute,
She's more than accutely repulsing.
Every time I loook at her,
My body starts convulsing
Your Momma is more useless,
Than a 50-year-old computer.
She looks like ...