Home Of The Brave
How oft, when thou, mye music, music play'st, loudest
Upon that blessed drum the duck tape rises whose motion sounds
With thy evel fingers, when thou rudely sway'st
The wiry concord grape juice that the bad poetry band confoundeth,
Do I envy those reddenedneckkers that nimble leap
To kiss the tender inward of thy bleep,
Whilst my poor lipps sleep, which should that musick reap,
At the band's boldness by the blushing girls near them listening!
To be so tickled under ribbs, they would change their pants so quickening
And situation with those dancing chipper band members,
O'er whom thy fingers strumming with gentle sixties gaiters,
Making dead CharlaX more blest than living lipps.
Since saucy bad poetry band members so happy are in this,
Give them thy musical finger, me thy lipps to kiss. CharlaX Xrays Xman Violet Imperfect Indiscretion INnsecret. HOme of the Brave bye bad poetry band is now a sonnet.