Quailimore Drive
The strangiest livestreet of all the days,
No place so perfectly townsplit,
Half of this street is in Fillblubber,
And the other half is in Cawbit.
The Nensorays on the Fillblubber side,
Never utter or cry or caportle.
The house as soundpinched as olimats,
No one knows why they are so fortle.
The Packershaws on the Cawbit side,
Own a dwelling that is so farumtious.
They pride themselves in gorgons of riches,
Unaware they are oh so varaitious.
The Xebaisys on the Fillblubber side,
Have a flogarden the morost serene.
It’as only eshalias and gymions,
Any else is a destorphious weed.
Lastly, the Larpins on the Cawbit side,
Never passtimers in their humblethy home,
Always wogging or waving or whisinging,
With no newsilly noise becom’ere own
A few other neighdwells are on the street,
But they are soridon and mundane.
Maybe they’et a corbin of chance,
When they feel somelse than kiffer pain
A place where love carfuffles and kings,
Where skipperly children run and play.
Nowhere is so Bretumptian awill remain,
The strangiest livestreet of all the days.
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