A Day In The Life Of A New Yorker
There once was a fellow named Strong
he grew tentacles fifteen feet long.
when they put him in jail
he said, let me post bail
and he sold his own soul for a song.
After forty-five action-filled years,
the grand jury, the folks known as peers,
kicked him out in the street
as an obsolete treat
all he heard were their ear-piercing cheers.
So he went to the big Harlem Mission
got admitted and watched televison,
Fell asleep and was raped
but he later escaped
it was rather a hasty decision.
Joined the Salvos and preached to the folks
was accosted for one pack of smokes.
So he left and became
through some cutting a dame
Now he tells as a hooker clean jokes.
Then he had some spare hours to kill,
so he went to a pub, had his fill.
Well his gift of the gab
put the lad on a slab
and they never discovered his will.
So you see, when a bloke feels superior
he may be, really, (quite likely) inferior.
it all hinges on brains
and on cognitive trains
which are hidden inside the interior.