Lord Gaga
He wears a frame upon his eyes,
None knows where the glasses are;
His earrings are oysters’ shells,
Singing as cymbals after him.
On his head are weedy locks,
Each strand knitted with rainbow beads
And with a cut from bicycle tube,
He binds them upon his neck.
His suit will win a queen,
With a thrilling inner shirt;
But trust our man with his feet,
Left is leather, right is rubber.
Arresting my spy he presses:
Knowing you not Lady Gaga ?
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