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