Welsh Watermelons
Zack and Phil made burgs on the grill And fell prey to sonorous laughter 'Cause shacks were few and slacks were lewd In the beach town of Gringrosher And there they stayed with sweet summery bouquets Sprawling gardens rich with floppy farters Who smelled like roses on decorative coffins Of long dead and forgotten corpses There in the sand lay a pebble so grand For it spoke and sounded sharper Than any other pebble if there were any other That bespoke and made one slaughter