There's a place on Mars / Where the ladies smoke cigars
Every puff they take / Is enough to **** a snake
When the snake is dead / They plant roses in its head
When the roses die / They put diamonds in its eye
When the diamonds crack / They put mustard down its back
When the mustard dries / It attracts the Martian flies
When the flies get stomped / It becomes a Martian prompt
When the prompt gets writ / Then the Martians have a fit
When the fit is tight / Martian snakes begin to bite
If they bite your face / You become a Martian case
But your case won't close / Till your poems decompose