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With Sand in his Eye
Invent the patents,
To the infinitive,
Want a fresher egg?
Go buy a chicken.
150 years,
the tortoise may die,
crawling around,
with sand in his eye.
It is the worst thing,
Since unsliced bread,
Leave me a message,
Or text me instead.
Throw in the wrench,
It's not the sharpest tool,
It's always bad,
When they tell you you're a fool.
Some assembly,
Is not required,
Please print clearly,
I'm your secret admirer.
Be the proud owner,
Of an honorable mention,
Protect yourself,
With that big lead apron!
Copyright © 1999 - 2025
Steve Bujanow, Chris Theriault, Neo Cortex The Band, aka Neo Cortex
All rights reserved
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