Hey you pesky little fluffy rabbit,
Got to get you off that nasty habit.
Dive into the electric barber chair,
Where alternating sounds give me a scare.
The purple iguana came in my dreams and said,
It is true child; I’m inside your head.
I’ve always wondered what the Rock was cooking,
What hangers do, when you’re not looking.
The flaming chariots in the screaming sky,
Whispered prophesies as they screamed by.
And the kings of flyovers brought peace within,
Their own souls, if not their kith and kin.
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