Those three must not eat at all, we corpulent cats said.
It was class reunion time, and our backsides were spread.
They are still stuck up observed my friend Toddie Tedd.
I bet they don’t eat sugar, salt, chips, spaghetti or bread.
They dress too fancy too, they think they are all that.
This came from a really Rubenesque gal, I think her name was Pat.
We stared at the skinnies, wishing they would be a little more fat.
Angry at their lanky svelte ways, I acted a bit like a brat.
Categories:
skinnies, woman,
Form: Rhyme
My mother is a warrior
Her favorite weapons are pans and pots
My mother is a worrier
She worries a lot
She worries if I will ever be free
From this tyranny disguised as democracy
She worries about our nation’s decree
She worries if her son and daughter will ever get a degree
From UNIMA
The UNIMA in me
Keeps me blinded to see
That if I fight the system; the only one hurting is me
Like punching a wall when it’s 5 degrees
Celsius
So Dear God, Help us
See
That this dictatorship is from overseas
Imported like overgrown peas
Black eyed and cheese
They imprisoned our minds and will,
I am
Donated a couple dollars to pass a bill,
From Sam
So homosexuals could walk on our streets
With they’re overly tight skinnies
and fake Dr Dre Beats.
Categories:
skinnies, absence,
Form: Blank verse