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Rough Allowed - Two
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Poem Number 569
Brandishing a bowl, the high-handed man sat
Legs bundled under his burnished throne of aluminum
Procaliming THIS to do something, and THIS not to do that
Then ordering a bowl from the butler he wanted a heaping of lardy fat
...
"You may proclaim all you like" spat the butler meanly
But your filthy rat ship here and drunken raves are a continuum
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