There once was a boy from Nantucket,
who would rob and steal for them duckettes.

One day while ganking a purse,
he ended up on his back in a hearse.

Now Mama crys and wails at church,
while his boys pour 40's from where they perch.

To you I bequeath
a sigh of relief.
So take a seat,
cause I'm about to *****.

Your reaction is slow,
eyes are without glow,
mind in a constant row.

No need to wallow,
that the hopes you follow,
are full of holes and hallow.

Some knowledge I'll bequeath,
so sigh some relief,
know that existence is brief.

Imagine a condition,
labeled a tradition.
Men on a mission,
to slay those who dissin'.

The vile gas in my ***,
would create a concussive blast.
Similar to the cast,
"Go Squirtle, Hydro Blast!"

Follow the formula right here in this old book,
you you might just be mistook,
for a fool with a mane
and a tongue with no old sayin'

Nature gives less a
**** plus
Natures got the nuts
and doesnt care to lust
while you hussle and fuss.