BOXEN!
The boxen are flimsy
And tattered
And torn
And they love to eat
Oats and corn,
But they're boxes.
Made from trees,
They friggin pwn foxes.
They pull carts
And haul stuff
And you think that's enough?
They don't need air or any basic necessities
Oh, and once again, THEY'RE MADE FROM TREES
But Still.
It drives me mad
There's nothing I can do
That can seem to help you
It drives me mad
That I can't be there
And I can't show I care
It drives me mad
Because you're my best friend
And I want to be here, till the end
It drives me mad
That it has to be this way
I hope it will be a brighter day
It drives me mad
That I go so sad
Because I love you, and there's a friendship to be had.
Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge
You say you're going to write this epic
Pages and pages long
But not nearly as great as a song
A story can be fun, to a degree
But after that it's a chore to me
I mean, don't get me wrong, stories are perfect for taking up time
But get me right, songs are so awesome and most often ryhme
If only I could put them to music, my poems I mean
Too bad it's my voice that puts up a horrible screeching screen
But, I have the words just not the notes
It would probably sound like tone deaf goats
That's where guitar comes in, my ill eased friend
Because for me playing most other things would all be pretend
But I'm terribly impatient and I would just be starting now
To learn notes and things and figure
out how