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