In all his glory, from gloves to gown.
His hair is sprayed, his trunks pulled down.
He waddles to the center ring,
removes his robe and starts to sing.
"All hail to me, I'm the best of all,
I never lose, I never fall.
But poor ol' Nancy, weak and frail,
I'll be on her like hammer to nail.
She is no match for such as me;
I'll put her down before round three.
She's coming out to start the fight.
She'll never see my awesome right.
Wait, what's she doing over there?
Standing still beside her chair.
She hasn't even worked a sweat;
I'm fighting hard, but no win yet.
I'm punching hard from head to toes,
there's no defense for all my blows.
But why am the one who's sore?
She hasn't moved, and it's round four.
I'm getting faint, I'm about to drop.
I'll try this punch before I stop.
She won't know where it's coming from,
She's such a "lib," she's such a bum.
One last blow should end it here
But wait, she's still beside her chair!
She hasn't moved - and yet I'm hazy;
Who's been hitting me like crazy?
It must have been that referee
who beat the tar from poor ol' me.
Sure, that's the way it must have been,
I couldn't have lost to that ol' hen!"
Poem by that Damn Democrat
John Watson
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