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My cannon? Loose. My boat? Rocked. (Because of the loose cannon.)
That bridge? Reached & crossed.
And under that bridge? Water.
And out of that water? A fish.
And into a frying pan I presume
Briefly, before going into the fire.
is that a normal cooking fire or did the river catch fire again
You didn’t have the courage to write “came to.” 🌉 🥵
Reached, crossed, and burned down.
My monkeys? Brassed.
Funky.
town
Your cold Medina? Funkied.
My monkey? Spanked.
barreled?
Your jimmies? Rustled.
Your goose being cooked is a bad thing though?
hey everyone look at salmonella tom here likes his goose raw
I like my geese free and thriving
they will be free to thrive in my belly.
My monkeys? in a barrel.
With the fish that you shot?
Well look at Mr Many Baskets. I keep mine all in one, much more efficient and nothing can possibly go wrong. Surely.
How you gonna write all that and forget about horses
My shit? Worked out.
your milk?
Uncried over?
Lapped up
oh the cat’s gotten into it again
Hotel? Trivago.
My bulls? On parade
Lucky birds
My slugs? Salted.
*salty
My coffin? Nailed.
