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Pooetry

BOK BOK BOG!

I’ve had chicken dinner three nights in a row.
From the rear I’ve had quite the southern flow.
And that isn’t mentioning the dreadful aroma.
The faint of heart will certainly fall into a coma.
I’m expecting the porcelain to have a yellowish glow!

Everywhere I go I am starting to see chickens.
Then I get that feeling where my bowels thicken.
I need a loo bad, I’ll even accept a barrel or a keg.
Gotta find it fast, I’m about to lay this brown egg.
But it’s too late, BOK BOK BOG! I’m grief stricken.

Pure Pooetry

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