Dragging on the stogie that is life
Clearly it's a drag
Shattering plate glass claims your left hand
But it could have been worse
Good thing you're not Bob Dole
Your cigars lie in wait
Waiting to burn
Smouldering burn
Lungful of creosote
Reminds you you can't breathe that stuff
Hack up a lung
Hacking like Buddy Hackett
It keeps the big burn burning
The cigar, not your lung
Until, a roach, it burns your stubby digits.
They burn away - at least they're not like
Edd "kooky" Byrnes
Five little Edds
In bedd with Ledd Zepp and the Dedd
Sleeping in your humidor
The humidor
The humidand
The humidXor
The severed hand
Itches worse after it's gone
But there shall be naught to scratch.
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