In rhyme I know I can't compete
With 'Scribbler' or 'You There'
But if the three of us you'll beat
With equal force, I swear
That I shall be the last to plead
For mercy. Poets quit
Before their tender buttocks bleed;
But mine are made for it.
I've read your message in 'What's New';
So, with no ifs nor buts,
I'll bend beside those other two
And show who has the guts
Your newest hidings to enjoy,
While others whinge and whine.
Slave Hard-Case as your whipping boy
Please choose for oh-oh-nine.
