Still scowling black
Good Captain Clack
Must eat his humble pie
His bed is made
The colours fade
His eyes once wet are dry
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The naked muse
Who sits and chews
Tobacco off a tree
Removes his shoes
Gives way to booze
And searches endlessly

See the naked jumberlack
Sip his aphrodisiac
Cotton-picking farmers three
Though I lost my weather vane
And of sense I have one grain
I'm content sipping lemon tea