That was A Nasty from you,
The Coarsest from a shrew;
Men who’d ignore it few
To over it lengthily chew …
Your Upper Lip I might’ve attacked
And The Lower just swollen,
As through you’d my pockets ransacked
And my valuables stolen ...
Your utterances you’d made
To, perhaps, lower my grade
Their message, that of The Afraid
That my fame will never fade:
Gibbers...
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