Results tagged “poetry” from Overlooked
There's nothing like toast after a long day of raping and pillaging.
(To the tune of Blow the Man Down)
Come all ye young fellows that watches TV:
Put down the remote now and listen to me.
I'm a sad old landlubber, I'll do ye no wrong;
You give me some rye toast, I'll sing ye a song.
What's it that you're putting on top of my bread?
It looks like it would be the shape of a head!
Make sure with my toast ye don't cook it too hard -
I prefer that it not be too crunchy or charred.
My matey, you're starting to give me concern.
I really do think that my toast ye may burn!
But a skull on my bread, is that what I spy?
And tis not burned at all; not e'en a bit dry!
Ay, you and your secrets: your pirate toast stamp.
Now out of my way; clean up all the clutter;
Hand me the I Can't Believe It's Not Butter.
What are ye saying - I'd sing you a song?
Arr! Back in the kitchen - tis where ye belong.
He moves me to poetry.
Laurence Tureaud one fateful day was born:
The youngest kid of twelve, and surely blessed.
Athletic from the start; you would have sworn
He'd dazzle young and old with his success.
Mohawk inspir'd by fighting rogues abroad,
Gold chains around his neck and jew'ls abound.
In sight of such great will, Stallone was awed;
The role of Clubber Lang to T was crowned.
You are somebody - not somebody's fool.
From him we learned the way to treat our mom,
To drink our milk and always stay in school:
All that we need to get a date for prom.
To Mr. T we send our deepest love.
So strong and tough, yet gentle like a dove.
mixtape = love
I sent her chocolates,
she said no.
I sent her flowers,
she said no.
I sent her a picture of me,
she said no.
I sent her a mix tape,
she said no.
I sent her a painting,
she said no.
I sent her an independent film,
she said no.
I sent her an invitation to dinner,
she said no.
I sent her tickets to the opera,
she said no.
I sent her an expensive dress,
she said no.
I sent her beautiful earrings,
she said no.
I sent her a gorgeous ring,
she said no.
I sent her a trip around the world,
she said no.
I sent her her new car,
she said no.
I sent her the keys to her downtown loft,
she said no.
I sent her my life,
she said no.
I sent her my soul,
she said no.
I sent her my anger and frustration,
she said no.
I kissed her,
she punched me in the mouth and broke my eyeteeth.
I sent her my lawyer.
In honor of MacGyver creator Lee David Zlotoff's announcement that he intends to make a full-length movie of the classic 1980's hit show, today's Hunk Friday post is obviously dedicated to the man himself, Richard Dean Anderson.
I have composed a poem for the occasion:
Man of brains, even though he had brawn,
Angus was his name, and gentle as a fawn.
Could there be a problem you can't solve?
Grand man, your knowledge does ever evolve.
Your Swiss Army Knife was your most faithful chum,
Virilely you stood alone, but if only I had been the one!
E'er I'll smell the sweet perfume of your feathered hair,
Raspberry shampoo that helps plug that sulfuric acid leak over there.
Start a Brand New Life with Tony
Tony Danza (to the tune of Elton John's "Tiny Dancer")
Cleaning man, always at hand
In the Bower's living room
Tony Micelli, he's at the ready
In his hand a wooden spoon
But he's like a third wheel
Standing here, Angela near
Heading out, dating some yuppie
You know he's lonely
Hold me closer Tony Danza
Won't you take me to a buffet?
Why don't we go back home to Brooklyn
You had a busy day, oh eyyy
