The spitting and the splatting…
Came the spluttery shatting.
The claggy and the gooey.
My rear feels a bit spewy.
The tide so angry and grumpy…
A flowing of gravy so lumpy.
The slick ooze did bubble and steam.
A Mr. Whippy made of sour brown cream.
My gut doesn’t feel great right now.
So back into the bowl, I take a bow.