I'm a babblin' man:
I make fun of tunes, pop.
My "oeuvre" unfurls.
Most every day I post; most subject farts,
Luncheon meats, drunks, nitwits, girls.

I'm a pretty dreadful speaker--that don't stop me--
Of Mexican lingo.
The same can be said of français, but still, oui. . .
Give each lexicon a go.

Hoch, I heed? That's "nein," still I'm hurlin' out
The few words that I've learned:
Aforementioned "nein," "kein," fein," "Schwein," "schlong"--wrong!
That's my Yiddish term.

I'm no polyglot-speech maven, leaving to me
Something clever to write
In the talk of the land of Wight, high tea. . .
Naw! But "Spell"s both day and night.

Odes to sweet pralines; bouts of burping sounds;
Body parts starting squirms;
Vinylgina'd dolls, mouths lipped for long dongs
Made for high-he firms.

I'm polysyllable-crazy--oh, more than three!--
Sesquipedalian-rife.
When my shlock readers scan, some write, "Why me?!"
My wife yells, "Dude, get a life!"

No, I'm a babblin' man,
Jests write, a babblin' man,
Head's light, an ramblin' man,
D'oh, I'm an addlin' man. . . . .