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| - Poj, he was a thrinklewaart, A blostule, yes he was, He never tried to wrostenshig, Or schlapple on the fozz. Now, Poj has tried squip deripp, But spat it out in gloo, It landed on his father’s pok, Out of the rix, poj was threw. Now, I is not a semple bod, I know poj is not real, But a gec idea is a gec idea, But of it, I grooked a meal. In this wereld of grossing flesz, Poj, rules all, he’s kling. His ‘ed atop, there is a croon, Of gold and rue, by dring. To sit in statue of frozkenwig, To sit by Poj and stare, To look a grootness in the eye, And know, you shuddent be there. So, Poj, the lord, the lord of all, Lord of all the loond, The ploblic object to him beein thur, Coz Poj was never crooned, The fakle kling of virtue false, Does not stop rulling tall, And that, my friends, oopens this tale, Because, moit, that ain’t all. Poj is still a freetful kling, A blostule, good and true, The ploblic decided to do something, To make Poj kloodeloo. Now, peple try to like El kling, But like him they are untroo, They haveet the kling so much, But don’t know what to do, But latenied, upon a nig, A groop doth form in cleg, Leader, a strang and knobbly man, He had a shorter right leg, They plenned a grandous trickecy, A loverletty plen, Bot, as a clonger goes at two, They were all tired men, So, on the Plasday, round about 4, The groop set off to whim, To go and sort out the horrid kling, To go and pronstogate him. So, late at nig, they blass’ed quick, To get inside, with gronz, They used a map to look aboit, And hid in a statue of bronze, They interd a room of gold and clod, And rue, such greate a pleate, Poj looked whonse, said “Do you mind? “Getoot, I’m trying to eat.” So out came a fezhorn, long and bland, The kling doth run away, The groop had won! Poj was enzoomed, Calloo, calloo, callay! Now Poj had been enzoomed with bloz, The peple rejoyced in gragc, Poj rulled with an iron poot, And now he’s got the bag, Now in whim, where the flipflops doof, And the inkius try to blot, There is no kling, so chaos encriped, With words that didn’t mean squat, As life went on, their tickers tocked, Their brains went nick nack noo, Then one pep’s mind eclupted with thought, “I know just what we’ll do!”, All E’s were on bloke, his name, Samuel poops, Had he fondanted his coof? He said with abroyse, “Let us elect, “A kling who renoyses the troof,” “A cloot idea,” Bogoozed his woif, with shooziz bigger than trees, “We have to emlate the parties, first, “Let’s all monstrate in threes.” They all roozood and plocked around, Looking for others of climp, To share there view on whims control, As it really had gone limp. And so it stude that that day then, One groop took the lead, Told evenigwon to crampate fun, To sleep, drink, poo and feed. Evenigwon seemed happy widdat So they voted for trundlebird 2, Cozz all they wanted, ever to do, Was eat, sleep, drink and poo, And itbeso, in progdog day, The kling rangeyed to skok, Chaos encriped, loud and donf, But soon, incase of trok, Elecution returned, pep’s cronzooned, A man ratzood his hump, Trundlebird 2, to plower became, And so to flatten the lump, They all were crooned, a hoppy day, A day for spooshooshoz, But I is not rejoycening, Simperly because. Poj was not real, noother was whim, It’s all a plick of looz. But, your rooden this because, You havt boon on the booze. So stop the ploblic hoosey meets, The frondies at the blah, Don’t go buying whusky sawa, Cloggs throat’s up with guitar. Alcohom grondoon’s you so, It ratses, rums, and clongs, And it asasperfates with such ease, With tronsfising ballad songs, What is now, for Poj, so daz, His life had been danzeened, He livveth sooth in a hidey-hole, Until his rep’s been cleaned, Poj made his cave loverley, With poysonals here and there, He had a tulen In his room, And crazits everywhere, He glozzed that he, he had been, The kling of whim and cragg, But since his efferveckletude, His life began to sag, Moxwill, back in whim and crag, The group was rulling bad, Rulles had slackendid, robbers robbed, And the goodendid got bad, And so, in fear, good peples ran, For what dentrity is theft? And life cannoot get renevid, When right has become left, So Poj was lozzed, they had masjevved, Good Poj’s claracturr, At least when Poj rulled they did not, Speak in a constant shlur, And so the groop in lead, doth said, “We need our good Poj back…, “We canoot live in gredz no more…, “At least he gave us wrak.” And so a soich encrived that day, Twas said Poj should be found, They flew in bings to search the skies, And wollked to search the ground They satchel-chased for half a wote, Until one came across, A cave of deep blark blarkyness, But this peep was not a woss. Poj was watching Hollyoaks, When interd a binch of peeps, Poj was shizzed beyond compare, “Getoot ye little freeps!” The peeps got down on broken knee, And pleaded for aggreez, The leader peep crawled up to Poj, “Oh! Mighty leader, pleez?” Poj pontiferated for a while, On the question asked, Should I resprenfate myself? Okay! Should be a blast, And Poj is the leader of the land, A blostule, and that’s that. He rulls so tall and that is all, Go home u silly Ol’ bat, Thanks for reading, and for pleading, Oh, god, please please stop that!
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