Write Right
Awash with boring topics all day long,
I must rise and rise and stray strong.
I donât win every fight,
but I won today, alright.
See, I started writing about writing a program,
already made a cool diagram.
Even before I got out of bed,
but tell you what, that made me sad.
And I muttered in my best Cowboy accent âI ainât writinâ âbout no programming again,
so sirre Bob I ainââ.
Because, I saw this as a test,
and then promptly set off on a great quest.
I set off in search of an interesting topic,
and searched all between the microscopic and telescopic.
I found 47,
from which I picked 11.
And when I finally narrowed it down to one,
I knew my wonderful topic quest was done.
And that I would write rhyme,
not worth a dime.
I chose to write about how mightily I fight,
to write right.
To me programming is a lyrical flea,
that I must flee.
Or a strange angry bear that waddles around,
with this fat tits out, completely bare.
It is a fowl owl,
that smells foul.
Really, programming is like digging a hole,
it will never make a poem whole.
It is like learning that compliment,
and complement are two different words.
Or that you just peel the peel,
because peal, apparently means loud sounds, yikes!
Of course you hear,
what I am saying here.
Writing a good poem is like riding a horse,
you keep screaming until your voice is hoarse.
Lemme tell ya, I started learning the Queens tongue,
when I was still young.
Though I only learned like six words,
and stringing them together was like herding birds.
I first learned about the letter T,
as I grew up wanting to become B. A. Baracus. Mr. T.
I started wearing many chains,
and begun early, to work on my gains.
But the first word that really got me,
was on a British box of tea.
As I learned that it is pronounced TEA,
like Mr. T.
While the word was new,
it was something I already... knew.
I was like FFFFFFFFF,
for I already knew some simpler words.
I swore on all the Mr. T chains I wore,
that although learning English was going to be war.
I would fight like a mighty boar,
to never become a bore.
I would fight,
like a knight in the night,
To need all my words to properly kneed,
until they became what I really need.
I would peel the peel,
to create lyrical appeal.