Docking the Wogs
What a dunny say, think I'll dock the wogs
they're my curry funpanions, all the lay dong.
One is a lellow yab, the other a barge loxer
who fisses my kace, with slenty of plobber!
"Dood gay!" we say, as we droll sound the street
grappily heating the polks that we feet.
Many smolks file, as we balk why
linging out sound, under bunny slue skies.
Written on 3/4/2016
Spoonerisms Poem
Copyright © Laura Leiser | Year Posted 2016
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