Going two miles-per-hour you’ll hurt yourself casually, But if you add a zero to that you will be hurt incredibly. Fine day we’re having, sure but the roads do look nasty. No i’m sure it’ll be fine. But little did they know their brains are soon to look like, Well, dead brains.
Speeding two-zero-miles-per-hour, Then in a flash, hearing scorn from Simon Cowl. They’re in hell now, Feeling very dead now. This poem is deteriorating. But it still rhymes. So entertaining.