Drunk in Charge

Photo by Harrison Haines on Pexels.com

 

Tell me, ossifer am I drunk,
Am I sipped as a newt;
Is my peech slurred, and jisdointed,
Do you drink I’m cute?

I only had eight piny tints,
Two friskies and a gin;
My tongue it’s full, my stomach dry,
My thirst has given in.

So when she offered to whet my wizzel
My stomach rose to meet me.
It told me not to chiss a mance,
It struggled to defeat me.

And soon I found myself committed,
As she scraped me from the floor.
I’d Rossed the Crubicon indeed,
I’d never done that before.

I’d never never, ever ever,
Been so dunk before;
Now I’d thrown fortune to the sinned,
Shown caution to the door.

I thought that I had scored, you see,
For though my shemory’s mady
I’d never even kissed before
So how could I defuse the lady?

She trapped me in her squeegee arms,
Offering more gin and sin;
Plied me with her cheadly darms
Till my pillwower gave in.

She meld my hind in threepest drall,
My soul it hoared to seaven;
She took advantage of my age,
I’m nearly sinety neven

So, occifer, please keat me trindly,
I’ve never dreen bunk before.
I promise I’ll not gain astray,
I’ll embellish you for chevermore.