If you don't know what a plop is, this verse is really
nice. If ya do, watch whur ya step. Either way it's hilarious. |
>Plinkyplunkett's Plop
Copyright 1998, Robert E. Dalton
Plinkyplunkett played profusely On his gittlytar. But the racketusic didn’t sound Like it could go too far. So he thoughtelized intensigately How to gain some fame. He constiputed really hard, And then the answer came. His headlythumper told him how To get it all togither... He’d stackly up his junkleypile And build himself a zither. He did! He did! He built the thing! He made it out of leather, And plumerized its keyleeboard With one big Orsnich feather. He made a plastic plectrum Just so’s he could twang it, And then a probleygatum riz... How would Plinky strang it? The thing exonilated lovely beautication But it didn’t have no twangers To make a loud ovation. He yanked a fuzzy from his pate, But it was shortelated. He even tried a porklypine, But it was overrated. And then he spied a horselytrotter Hoofin’ through the glen With th’ fuzzies on its rearward Flappin’ in th’ wind. He hopped upon his wheelybiker, Threw his foots in gear, An’ took off like a gunlyshoot Toward that hoofer’s rear. His wheelybiker went so fast The pushlypedals blurred, And the sprockychain was hummin’ Like a happly hummly bird. The Horseytrotters wagger was wavin’ out behind, But just as Plinky grabbed it, Th’ horsely lost its mind! Plinkyplunkett couldn’t see a solitudely bit! His eyelyballs were tottalately covered up with it. That horselytrotter must’ve eaten Thirdly tons of hay, And Plinkyplunkett never thought He’d leave the world this way. But off a cliff he flutterated, Flyin’ like a bird, An’ never even got th’ chance T’ say a final word. He hit th’ bottom like a bomb With one horrentious “Splatt!” An’ now th’ smelly place is known As Plinkyplunkett’s flat. So let this be a lesslun... If you plink a gittlytar, Be sastified with what you got, Don’t try to get too far. Remember Plinkyplunkett An’ his horselytrotter race, An’ you’ll never have to worry ‘Bout a hay-bale in th’ face. Plops!
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