Spaceman: A poem
I, the great “The Baconeator” felt Inspiration’s splendid kiss upon my brow this glorious morn. I was thus compelled to construct this magnificent masterpiece of powerful poetry. Feel free to consume. Try not to die of shock and awe.
Spaceman
I love my pistol
But I ain’t space gay
I just like to fondle
My sweet death ray
With a smile on my face
I blast through the black
Strapped on my back
Is a slick jetpack
My enemies quake
My death ray blazes
They hold their manhoods
In frightened crazes
Burned into ash
Their women lamenting
I drive them forth
My anger venting
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ba-dung-doong-da
buckacho-cha
Breakin’ your orbit
My heat shield blazin’
A vorpal blade aimin’
To wreck your dayzin’
Forget your wife
Forget your baby
If there’s iron aplenty
I won’t say maybe
Gonna take your shiznit
To fill my ride
Gots’ to get paid
While I bust my rhyme.