David Dierdorf D’Buckworth DeadHad millions of dollars stashed under his bed.He had lots of people he wanted to thank,So he withdrew many millions more from the bank.Then he sat on the corner and gave them awayTo any small child who wanted to play.But the children had parents who all screamed “EEEP!This David D’Buckworth is some kind of CREEP!”They called up the cops, and in a short whileDave was arrested as a pedophile!He screamed, “I’m D’Buckworth, a very rich man!You can’t arrest me!” They said, “Yes we can!And we’ll take out our nightsticks and clobber your head,Dick Tracy has proved that D’Buckworth is DEAD!So if you’re D’Buckworth, the thing we must doIs kill you and cut off that girlie tattoo!(for we cops all wonder what kind of a guywould put on his shoulder a big butterfly)”So they took him away and they smashed in his faceIn the hope that Dick Tracy could now solve the case.So the cops could go home to the friends they held dearIf not by Thanksgiving, at least by New Year.
It was probably just that I couldn't resist trying to find something that rhymes with "pedophile."
Anyway, an hour or so later I was again seized by the muse, this time by the ghost of Dr. Seuss...
I do not like D’Buckworth DeadI do not like his hands or head.I do not like him in the room,I do not like him with a FLOOOOOOOM!!!!I do not like him drinking Tab,I do not like him on the slab.I do not like his corpse of goo,I do not like his lame tattoo.I do not like his ugly crone,I do not like her funky phone.I do not like him, though I stillWould take his thousand-dollar bill.
I think I need to find something more useful to do with my time.