The Historian was killed by home-grown marijuana.

His beautiful valet went to pick up his lady friend anyway.

What was the cause of such heartbreak among these fuddy-duddies?

The wine maker was crying, smoke came out of his mouth

Accompanied by his announcement of the time and his bad breath,

As he’d just swigged an entire bottle of cheap perfume.

I’m trying to think of a book of songs I can tell you all about

Which will upset your digestion like one too many donuts.

The aim of an old poet is to put his finger in the cheese

With the sad look of the Phantom Fry-Cook.

Often, when I’m pissed at the world in general,

I float below the ocean’s cold arms in my tiny submarine.

The whitened inhabitants of a thousand leagues below

Know to tip their hats a tea-time, always holding the smoky brims.