I stumble with fumble,

My minds all a jumble

I muddle and fuddle

Thats really the trouble


I chase and I lace

My thoughts with

A face,  oh what a waste

Of too little Space

To move, should I choose

I will certainly lose

My  triple-decked ooze

When loving to schmooze.


I flip with my lip

To get my own whip

So away I can chip

A thorn in your side

There's no way you can hide

From a bubbling kind

Of immaculate find

I'm so much inclined

To sign on that line.


The jibber of fibber

Sends me a-quiver,

I need to deliver

The money I can slither


Green is now seen

Yellow is not mellow

Coins can be joined

But nothing rhymes with orange.

The End

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