the senate moves at lightning speed
to meet our nation's ev'ry need.
at long long last out of the mire --
they passed a bill about gunfire!
now all we ever have to dread
is how they shoot off their mouth instead.
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the us mail is not a farce
nor are its virtues very sparse.
it goes through wind and hail and rain,
and then returns to sender again.
and if my poetry don't scan
don't blame it on the old mailman!
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the world is running out of wheat;
with bread becoming trick or treat.
our flour soon will be tree bark,
with pancakes made from ditto mark.
if leaders want to make this cease
they should commit to total peace.
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My wife's the handyman, in that
I hammer like a baseball bat.
I have more thumbs than bees have wax,
and cannot even hit thumb tacks.
And so at home I sit around
and let her paint and frame and pound.
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