There was an old broke poet named Rakis
Who had hoped for a life of riches
He said “it’s glaring
I have nothing
But intellectual properties”
There was an old broke poet named Rakis
Who had hoped for a life of riches
He said “it’s glaring
I have nothing
But intellectual properties”
There was a  loquacious preacher from Boston
Who always forgot to end his preaching
He’d go on and on
And on and on
As long as he had a crowd that would listen