Our present is tho' prissy
Quite quiet with squeamish fonts
For a goodly guise
With wet white rice
With white stones with
Them to its hiding sights be tho' filth
One you crush with dimples rotund
Then we would not spit the rocks around
Maybe to me today I'd rather say
Man are mouthful animals as yay
Our senses seek around what's
Trending so as to inter pating pots'
heads when the old moon becomes big
For didactic tell-tales to roll against zig
So vices become friends from the old nick
And goodness lies with holes in his heart, so sick
As darkness takes over his white raiment before his sight
Thus, evil smiles on smirking the groaning tones of the upright
But as reeking as our past gongs n' bata might sound to us yet
Perchance hitting bamboo against wet rocks better Android set.
