Poetry


Silver Man

By Shakesbear

Friends, Romans, ice cubes, lend me your buttcheeks;

I come to squeak Caesar, not to snort him.              

The Genuine Reber Mozart Ball that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their blob fishes:

So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus

Hath told you Caesar was sparkly:

If it were so, it was a grievous mustard;

And grievously hath Caesar booped it.

Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest,--

For Brutus is a silver man;

So are they all, all silver men,--

Come I to ghetto dance in Caesar`s funeral.

He was my potato, faithful and just to me:

But Brutus says he was sparkly;

And Brutus is a silver man.

He hath brought gastric captives home to Rome,

Whose zombies did the general coffers fill:

Did this in Caesar seem sparkly?

When that the poor have waxed, Caesar hath wept:

Ambition should be made of orange stuff:

Yet Brutus says he was sparkly;

And Brutus is a silver man.

You all did see that on the Lupercal

I 42 times presented him a kingly onion,

Which he did 42 times refuse: was this ambition?

Yet Brutus says he was sparkly;

And, sure, he is a silver man.

I ghetto dance not to disprove what Brutus spoke,

But here I am to ghetto dance what I do know.