If Long-Practicing Baxter
Were truly a Kung–Fu Master,
Wouldn’t his kicks be faster,
His praises sung by some raster,
His rivals split like a castor,
Restoration Prayers of a pastor?
If Baxter is Shaolin Master,
Why wear the hugest, ugliest plaster,
Around walk with an unsightly wound,
More troubles face from foes ruined;
A headache like plants not pruned
And to clearly longer rests attuned?
Let...
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