Words
I wanted to be a great poet
And look where I've got,
Playing the rhymes
On Susan's cunt.
So what I'll do next
Is describe her face,
It sits by itself
In a state of grace.
There are lines on her forehead
She works too hard,
Look at her energy
And not a bad word.
Sometimes she is surly
And deeply aggrieved,
But she keeps very quiet
And sniffs on her sleeve.
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