The time a man goes fishing
Hooks him in a sea of screams.
Too emo for the bait.
No hunger then to sate.
For a rewarding trip out
He'll will the river – he'll shout
"Come 'en, 'ere, t'me rod,
Ehr ill pass'n ye, yessod!"
The fisher man's vulgarity
Has separated his title.
Like his parents when he was five,
After his mother for money did swyve.
The fisher man casts his rod in hope of a catch,
When he really wants a rhyme that he forgot to make.
It didn't happen just one time, either!