This one's number fifty,
I've reach half century.
Mouthing off right shifty,
No plenipotentiary.
But worry not ye readers,
I won't be stopping here.
There's plenty more to rant of,
You need have no fear.
I wonder if I'll reach,
One hundred 'fore I snuff it.
I'll need new subject matter,
To feed that tedious wit.
Should I move on to sport,
For me that won't appeal.
Or maybe art and literature,
Yet that would be surreal.
Go back to self describing,
All my many faults.
But that's just getting boring,
Like the rest of my defaults.
I bet I miss the worst,
And stick to minor things.
My grossest of behaviours,
Staying hidden in the wings.
Maybe I should hold a poll,
What should Boogs write next?
Whatever people choose though,
It's bound to leave me vexed!
I've reach half century.
Mouthing off right shifty,
No plenipotentiary.
But worry not ye readers,
I won't be stopping here.
There's plenty more to rant of,
You need have no fear.
I wonder if I'll reach,
One hundred 'fore I snuff it.
I'll need new subject matter,
To feed that tedious wit.
Should I move on to sport,
For me that won't appeal.
Or maybe art and literature,
Yet that would be surreal.
Go back to self describing,
All my many faults.
But that's just getting boring,
Like the rest of my defaults.
I bet I miss the worst,
And stick to minor things.
My grossest of behaviours,
Staying hidden in the wings.
Maybe I should hold a poll,
What should Boogs write next?
Whatever people choose though,
It's bound to leave me vexed!
