Swollen tongue, inflated glands and
Rapid heartbeat, taste buds bland
And world is spinning might crash land.
Eight maids a milking that one cow -
WOW! Not much room for that pow wow;
I almost fell off of my plow;
MEOW! MEOW! This should not be allowed!
OH POO! MY FACE IS TURNING BLUE!
CAN'T BREATH! CAN'T THINK - MY MIND IS GOO!
Must take a swig of Stew's home brew.
And smile and wave and pass on through.
But lo, they turned to wave, the burn,
My head's on fire, my chutter's burned
Disintegrating. . .where's an urn?
To place me in no more to yearn.
Eight maids a milking that one heifer,
A memory stored it's now a lifer.
Would love to make just one my wife or,
Two, or three, or four, or five.
