Sing a song of bad rhymes, eating pizza pie,

Never seen a Thursday, eating up a guy,

When the pie was eaten, the guy began to burp,

Oh wasn’t that a nasty thing to do in a church?

The church is busy on Sundays, and when ppl die,

Some live happy lives, some are full of lies,

When the lie spoken, mom began to scream,

Her face was red and awful just like in my dream.

Some Dreams are pretty graphic; some thoughts are pretty weird,

I know an ugly minister who loves to grow a beard.

Beard is nothing but a, nasty growth of hair

I saw one on a holy man, deep in a prayer

Prayers are words so private, told to various gods

Gods are often found in million different forms,

When a god was yawning, a thought came in his mind

Why not hide a treasure which no man could find

That secret that he hid, was in a very tiny dice,

Made of tiny particles, which were very wise

Far away in Switzerland, an atom smasher lies,

It speeds up tiny electrons, to crack open the dice.

When the dice was opened, my head began to spin

Last time when that happened, I was high on gin

Now my pie is over, I must get back to work,

Sorry for confusing you, and being such a jerk.

Love to all,

ääRÐëë
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