rime:
fabled lake of western lore
blue, green moss of sandy shore
joy and smiles none the more
laughing at my face of bore

hike you:
loss came to me once
with blackened raven – ed poe
he stabbed it dead

limb er… rick:
although i never kicked him down
along the river did he frown
by brook and stream of moon so bright
bore he my burden in pants so tight
and smiled as he ran aground

cup lit:
epics are oft too long
to ever be made into song

tripe lit:
carp on log
and cooked with frog
smells like bog

and fine all lee:
on discovering chuck norris could whoop my ass
i discerned my calling was not to ask
him if he could or not.