squeezed into a pair
of shiny black pumps
strolled the plump
Lewd Lard Lord
in a gallant gait
of stride-hop-skip
he surveyed his
brood, yard... horde
ever allotting
little lots to the low
was the goal of his
glued scarred gourd
in enforcing edicts
for his own cravings
he oppressed with his
shrewd guard sword
rains snubbed grains,
and pestilence pestered
the rotten reign of the
Lewd Lard Lord
suffering serfs
rightly retaliated,
for their erupting
feud, sparred... warred
their anger afire
blazed the lord's home
suiting its lust for
stewed, charred board
dancing in the dust
and embers, they sang
echoes linger of that
spewed bard chord
"Food, homes, and clothes
we now can afford
once we finally fried the
Lewd Lard Lord!"
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