Harry Bawls, P.I.

Something smells fishy,

And it ain't the girls' bathroom.

Something sounds iffy,

And it ain't this half-ass poem.

Something looks shifty,

And it ain't the queers smooching.

Something feels fickle,

And it ain't Lindsay's boobies.

Something tastes putrid,

And it ain't papa's special recipe.

Something's going down,

And it ain't the couple next door.

Something's up,

And it ain't the teens smoking.

Something's not right,

But it won't stay that way.

Nothing can escape,

Harry Bawls,

P.I. extraordinaire!