If you are heading to the big smoke,
There is something you should not poke,
It smells of hippo dung,
Dangerous to everyone,
And to this thing nothing should ever be spoke.
Will London ever be the same again?
There was a mad witch in the east,
Who on gossip and slander did feast,
I hope she turns green
With a ruptured spleen
As she’s munched on by a rabid beast
Its not often you see Hippo Dung,
Maybe in a zoo or a place that’s far flung,
Tho some think its great,
Its something I hate,
It leaves a nasty taste upon my tongue.
There was a lady who made people sore,
As around her they did more and more,
And all the while,
She’d just sit and smile,
That lazy manipulative whore.
