Is it smellin’ like a yellin’ felon, or ripe and robust like a freshly picked melon? Does it live in trees and have greasy knees, or can its cheese freeze disease and make your enemies scream please?
Does it look like rotten cheddar with no chance of gettin’ better, or do its cool tones keep you heat-prone like a thick-necked woolen sweater?
Let me know it, but don’t blow it. Don’t get harsh like a swamp marsh or mince words like some songbirds. Leave impressions like confessions but don’t cuss at Lust-a-bust, ’cause our committee won’t be pretty and it’ll get meaty at the treaty.