Limerick-Off Monday – Rhyme Word: CHAIN at the end of any one line (Submission Deadline: February 15, 2020)
It’s Limerick-Off time, once again. And that means I write a limerick, and you write your own, using the same rhyme word. Then you post your limerick(s) as a comment to this post and, if you’re a Facebook user, on Facebook too.
I hope you’ll join me in writing limericks using CHAIN at the end of any one line. (Homonyms or homophones are fine.)
The best submission will be crowned Limerick-Off Award Winner. (Here’s last week’s Limerick-Off Award Winner.)
Additionally, you may write themed limericks related to STRING INSTRUMENTS, using any rhyme word. And of course I’ll present an extra award — one for the best STRING INSTRUMENT-related limerick.
How will your poems be judged? By meter, rhyme, cleverness, and humor. (If you’re feeling a bit fuzzy about limerick writing rules, here’s my How To Write A Limerick article.)
I’ll announce the winners on February 16, 2020, right before I post the next Limerick-Off. So that gives you two full weeks to submit your clever, polished verse. Your submission deadline is Saturday, February 15, 2020 at 10:00 p.m. (Eastern Time.)
Here’s my CHAIN-rhyme limerick:
My treasured gold chain has a knot,
Which I’d meant to repair, but forgot.
I returned to the chain
Where I bought it … in vain;
Now it’s naught but a large, empty lot.
And here’s my STRING INSTRUMENT-themed limerick:
A work that was written for strings
Debuted and received many zings;
The audience booed it,
Reviewers all rued it.
But in its defense, no one sings.
Please feel free to enter my Limerick-Off by posting your limerick(s) in my comments. And if you’re on Facebook, I hope you’ll join my friends in that same activity on my Facebook Limerick-Off post.
To receive an email alert whenever I post a new Limerick-Off, please email Madkane@MadKane.com Subject: MadKane’s Newsletter. Thanks!
Tags: Bad Singing, Chain Stores, Competition Limerick, Jewelry Humor, Limerick Challenge, Limerick Contest, Music Humor & Verse, Music Limericks, Music Review, Poetry & Prompts, Shopping Limerick, Singing Voice, String Instruments, String Players, Writing Prompts
A funny thing with a chain
It’s repeats links again and again…
But there is one subtraction
And that’s a reaction…
Once happened, it’s never again.
I try to lose pounds, but in vain —
They’re locked onto my hips with a chain.
I’ll just have to drop kugel
And kreplach and strudel
And stick to gefilte with chrain.
I think you will find, in the main
There’s an indissoluble chain
‘Twixt cowboy and kid
I mean, heaven forbid
You forget that immortal wail, “SHAYNE!”
We recently heard a virtuoso
Play Robert Burns’ fiddle–’twas oh, so
Enrapturing, and
When we gave him a hand
He blushed and demurred, ‘Twas just so- so.”
Today is the Super Bowl date
But I have a much better fate
There’s a doc about Klezmer
And the newspaper says we’re
Gonna hear a real fiddling great!
****
Can you name the different strings?
I can’t–I just don’t know such things
I am awed in my seat
There amid the elite
They could probably play on bedsprings!
*****
Remember the chain letter fad?
Oh God, it was awfully bad!
If you broke the chain
You’d be ne’er seen again!
(Well,, that was the meme that they had!)
I had gotten my gal a gold chain
For a bracelet. She said with disdain:
“You’re a jerk; that I knew.
It turns out you’re cheap too!”
All this fuss for a tiny green stain!
Will you look at my bicycle chain!
It’s messed-up, and I have to complain!
All I need are some links
But this Internet stinks
What’s a “bike store”? Can someone explain?
My son is now learning guitar
Wants to be a cool musical star
He plays it all night
It never sounds right
Now our bedroom door’s never ajar
The viola is truly a peach!
And really quite easy to teach!
I told all my kids
This instrument is
A violin without the screech
All conjugal visits remain
As a way to relieve pent-up pain
For just once a year
You may see sweetie dear
And have sex with that ‘ole ball and chain
(From the archives)
The conductor exclaimed “Vot ze heck!
You, ze violin in ze last deck –
Your playing is poor, Jack;
Zis scraping make Dvořák
Sound ’orribly like a dud Czech.”
She always made love with her fellow
As though she were playing the cello.
When she gripped with her knees,
So hard did she squeeze
That he gave an unmusical bellow.
My “lover boy” gave me a chain
To afford it, he said, was a “strain”
Yet to me it looked cheap
And I started to weep
When it melted away in the rain
I just cannot clearly explain
Why this dance school is really INSANE!
It’s just so much fun
They’ve already begun
To open a “Cha Cha Cha” chain
The singing of a soleful violin
Is quite lovely, can make your head spin.
A Classical suite/fiddle tune,
An homage to the full moon;
A concerto to what might have been.
TYPO corrected. Please disregard previous one.
The singing of a soulful violin
Is quite lovely, can make your head spin.
A Classical suite/fiddle tune,
An homage to the full moon;
A concerto to what might have been.
another version of today’s limerick from 1:20 pm
All conjugal visits remain
As a way to relive pent-up pain
And once ev’ry year
You’ll undoubtedly hear
“Oh, Baby, keep yankin’ my chain”
“Joe, my lover, said I am to him,
Like a Strad’ – it’s the top violin.
‘If you keep your strings tight,
While my bow is in flight,
We’ll make music to make Mozart grin.’”
Trump doesn’t like those who complain.
He prefers people follow the chain
of command to his classs,
ramming head in his ass
and muffling “YssSrr” ‘tween his claims.
My wife thinks that I am a kook
Whenever I pick up my uke
As I act so plucky
In fact I am lucky
To get only one stern rebuke
But I really enjoy when I play
I can sit here and strum it all day
If I hit a wrong chord
I con the fretboard
When I try again she says, “Oy vey! “
I am learning to play the guitar
And some day, I’ll be a big star
But I am no fool
I found a great school
Where “La Manicure Spot” ain’t too far
a minor change in L5
I am learning to play the guitar
And, some day, I’ll be a big star
But I am no fool
I found a great school
Where “La Manicure Spot” isn’t far
Copped a fine, whilst drunk on the train
I pulled the emergency chain
There is no excuse
For improper use
Note to self; next time engage brain!
The “Lisi” Problem
In the gift shop there’s just no key chain
I can buy and then simply obtain
Not a one’s engraved “Lisi”
The closest is “Missy”
I’m outside my front door in the rain
The thoughts going on in my brain
Are like one long, crazy chain
I try to cease them
But only increase them
To my sleep they are really a bane.
Though joy I can rarely contain
When challenged by Madeleine Kane,
This one drives me nuts,
No Ifs Ands or Buts–
My mind just a huge ball and chain.
Prisoner John had one foot in a chain
He tried to pull it out though in vain
As the wall came down
John said with a frown
Chained or not, bye bye, I’m off again!’
The “Saga Of Cello” began
With a wise and a real healthful plan:
“Stay out of the heat
Ev’ry day you must eat
A serving of crisp rosin bran”
The Brussels sprouts ached with much pain
And were under a terrible strain
Oh, how they felt spurned
The day it was learned
They were first on the “Yucky Food Chain”
That hot violinist named Brie
Enticed an additional three
In order to set
Her new string quartet:
“Come over and fiddle with me.”
Teaching preschool can be such a strain
So I had to make use of my brain!
Fake jewl’ry was made
And each student displayed
Their “Chewable Cheerio Chain”
p.s. When I taught preschool, we actually made these necklaces, using
licorice “strings” and cereal:
Teaching preschool can be such a strain
So I had to make use of my brain
Fake jewl’ry was made
And each student displayed
Their “Chewable Cheerio Chain”
“A Heavenly Dream Gone Wrong”
For Angela, I had desire
But couldn’t put anything by’er
I said I was a harp
Yet my dream was too sharp
And told me that I was a lyre
Sang my son, “I am Carlos Montoya!”
as he strummed wretched chords in the foya.
Such abuse of guitar
only proves that kids are
always looking for ways to annoy ya.
When you play the electric guitar
There’s no doubt that you’ll be a great star
Cuz that damn thing’s so loud
You will sure please the crowd
Who won’t realize how unskilled you are
Mr. Cello was sure not composed
In the court his mistakes were exposed
The jury was back
And destroyed this dumb quack
The verdict was guilty. Case closed.
The carpenter found a large chain
Then pulled it, like it was a train
He fell through the floor
Got toss through a door
Woke up in excruciating pain
The conductor though the violin sound bad
Stepped on it, then suddenly got mad
He tossed it up high
It fell back from the sky
When crushed, he suddenly felt sad
“Shifty Schiff needs a ball and a chain,
And a bunch of them Dems should be slain!
Now impeachment is done,
I can have me some fun
Far more gross than Caligula’s reign.
Susan Collins, that ugly old beagle,
Confirms that my powers are regal.
Gonna show some new tricks
To them underage chicks –
When the President does it, it’s legal!”
Please allow me this small misconstruction,
followed up with a flimsy deduction:
bikinis with strings,
though not musical things,
are string instruments of mass seduction.
The foreboding chain letter was plain–
“Send this on, or you’ll suffer great pain.”
So I covered my ass,
sent out letters en masse,
and let somebody else break the chain.
Have you ever noticed how gaily
I play on my small ukulele.
It would really be missed
And I’d go round the twist
If it’s something I didn’t do daily.
On a fiddle I’m really a klutz,
No question, no if’s and no but’s
But on my Stradivari
My music’s light and it’s airy
And the audience simply goes nuts.
The dog started to heave
It’s kennel, when it saw us leave,
That put undue strain
On it’s cheap choker chain
That killed it when it couldn’t breathe.
In an old house in Maine
The toilet still had a chain.
It came off in my hand,
And where did it land?
Sadly it went down the drain.
Many gals in the orchestra face
An attempt by a guy, a disgrace,
To do sexual things
With the “babes” in the strings —
Though he still hasn’t got to first bass.
Are the American voters insane
When they support again and again
That buffoon of a chump,
One President Trump,
Whose lies form an unbroken chain?
Trying To Get Into College
On the “practice test” I have reviewed
All the answers, so I could conclude
That a “hat’s to a head”
Like a sheet’s to a bed
And a banjo’s like Spam is to food
(Double – if you allow the name ‘Viola’ to qualify also as a string instrument)
Young Daisy wore only a chain
As we scewed on my lawn in the rain,
And as for Viola,
That sweet garden-roller,
The grass never grew back again.
The Old Mariner cried, “What the heck?!
With an albatross–dead–I must trek?!
Can’t I just drag a chain
to display your disdain,
not this smelly old pain in the neck?”
I’ve lost count of the horrible things
That McConnell, Trump’s instrument, brings.
But let’s not forget
He’s a marionette –
It is Donald who’s pulling the srings.
In our section, I play second fiddle–
But please, do not mock or belittle
My role–‘cause my skills
(My vibratos and trills)
Deserve neither your scorn nor your spittle.
Will we ever find out the full chain
Of events that led up to Ukraine?
(Trump’s corruption, that is….)
I doubt it, ‘cause his
Is one grand feat of legerdemain.
The pot calling the kettle black
Indicates a complete and utter moral lack.
Like a single string base,
Not too subtle an efface,
GOP morality’s so out of whack.
I bought an antique locket and chain,
For as her partner I meant to remain.
She said look, it’s so old
And it’s only nine caret gold,
And she threw it at me in disdain.
So ends the most craven of trials,
In a swamp of obsequious smiles.
Republican music
Can’t fail to make you sick –
It’s played by a consort of viles.
Hello! I would like a nice chain
But I’d like it to be rather plain
See, I won’t spend a lot
Cuz my wife’s not that hot
And I’ll prob’ly get married again
He beat his pet dog with a chain;
It obeyed him from fear and from pain.
“Lick my asshole, you bitch!”
Though the dog was called Mitch,
He would lick it again and again.
Donald Trump’s impeachment – the aftermath
In a show that surpassed the Third Reich’s,
Traitors’ heads were impaled upon spikes.
They’d been hanged with a chain
On the White House terrain,
Live on Facebook, with millions of ‘likes’.
It’s the season for critters with wings
To make their nests with all sorts of things
They won’t hesitate
To rob strings from my bass
For up in the branches they cling!
Our Donald is really a pain.
We should send him away on a plane.
And when he’s de-planed
He must be restrained
By locking him up with a chain.
Did you know it’s called violoncello?
And playing it can sound so mellow.
If you like such a sound
Then just look around
When you see one you just may not bellow.
America’s favorite mugwump
Most likely will try to gazump
Again and again
Till he’s locked with a chain.
He’d then be ex-President Trump?
Growing Old: Yuk
My arthritis sure drives me insane!
I gripe, but it’s truly in vain
And what worries me more
Is what’s next in store?
Since that’s only one link in the chain
If you are a link in the chain
Of experts who study Ukraine,
You’ll be stabbed in the back
By a Twitter attack
From a boss who’s vindictive and vain.
No matter that you suffered pain,
Which your purple heart makes very plain,
If you stand up for right
You will suffer the blight
Of the Most Stable Genius’s reign.
Now I really don’t mean to complain
But our country’s now marked by the stain
Of flagrant dismissals
Of folks who blow whistles.
How long will that stigma remain?
I’m so modest I always refrain
from flaunting my solid gold chain.
If I wear it, I must
scrape off layers of rust,
and to do so might make me look vain.
Orchestral Component (acrostic)
V ery lovely deep tones you will hear
I ts music delightful and clear
O rchestral in sound
L earned players around
A nd its alto clef, sweet to the ear
My buddy is feeling real crappy
I never have heard him so snappy!
The banjo, he played
But in time got dismayed
He was tired of being so happy
I’ve been tutored to toot the kazoo.
My tunes and my rhythms are true.
But I can’t play a thing
On a musical string.
Yes I fret that I don’t have a clue.
True story…
I had lunch (though I hate to complain)
At a branch of a hamburger chain.
The next thing I knew
I was stuck in the loo.
Salmonella’s a whole world of pain.
The God you believe in so much,
A belief to which you firmly clutch,
The sad fact shall remain,
Though you firmly enchain,
To a belief that is really a crutch.
He broke my bicycle chain
Doing MX on rough terrain,
And he too broke the gears
So I’m really in tears
As he hasn’t a cent to his name.
Trump, your whining wears thin,
It’s like the screech of a flat violin.
Don’t be a buffoon,
Screaming that raucous tune
Or a second term you will not win
A two-fer
There once was a musical fellow
Whose melodies sounded quite mellow.
But he would complain
Of the weight of the chain
Round his neck that supported his cello.
My will states “I here do bequeath
My cello to dear uncle Keith
My fiddle shall go
To sweet uncle Joe
Cuz he’s missing a whole lot of teeth”
Throughout hist’ry we’ve acted like tyrants.
Mother Nature we’ve thumbed with defiance.
We’re not top of the chain.
To the Earth, we’re a pain.
It’s not humans, but trees, that are giants.
With lush tones her instrument brings,
She’s playing some beautiful things.
But finding a place
For a harpist to base;
She might have to pull a few strings.
Writing a Limerick with “chain”
Is not a real test of the brain
Because rhyming a word
With small effort incurred
Won’t make me the world’s next Mark Twain
The banjo is “second to none”
So listen, I just have begun:
“Deliv’rance” was great
“Cool Hand Luke” was first rate
And Pete Seeger sure had lots of fun
In the mountains, this small, remote nook
Is delightful, with woods, birds, and brook.
And the air is so clear!
Hold on, what’s that I hear?
A guitar and a banjo? Let’s book!
Young guitarist is great; none are finer.
But he got a black eye, quite a shiner,
‘Cause a high school girl’s dad
Thought he’d done something bad
When dad heard boy had fingered A minor.
Revised acrostic limerick, originally submitted Feb. 9, 6:34 pm
V ery dark, stately music you’ll hear
I ts timbre delightful and clear
O rchestral in sound
L ovely tones will astound
A nd its alto clef, sweet to the ear
I loved a young lady named Jane,
And gave her a fine golden chain.
Then, not to be lewd,
She said she’d be wooed,
Again, and again, and again.
A footballer’s stunt with a chain
Attached to his truck was insane.
Before he would flinch,
It did not move an inch;
The parking brake held for no gain.
You ask that we treat on the string
Section, that pitsicatto will ring
But My thoughts drift to Cage
Who was quite the rage
When he plucked piano strings
Well prepared
Ignoring the keys
He was bold
I heard him perform – on a roll
But the piece he perform’d
Was by some even scorned
In the piece
He quietly yearned
No plucking string steadied he
No piano weary
Not a key
But a twelve bar silence
Some resorted to violence
But John Cage
Left the state in “RE-Silence”*
*Madame First Lady’s term
The Trumpdon has newly acquired
The Trump Doll — no assembly required.
When you pull on its chain
to start up its wee brain,
it says “Hoax!” “Scam!” “I’m perfect!” “You’re fired!”
The Trumpdom has newly acquired
The Trump Doll — no assembly required.
When you pull on its chain
to start up its wee brain,
it says “Hoax!” “Scam!” “I’m Perfect!” “You’re fired!”
My boyfriend plays bass, no one’s finer
Dad caught us and gave him a shiner
Then my “sweet” was indicted
On three counts, was cited
The first one was “Fin’gring A Minor”
I’m not really one to complain,
But people keep yanking my chain.
Like most shows on Fox
Where everyone talks
As if Donald Trump’s not insane.
Psychotherapists mostly begin
By hearing your woes, so you’ll “win”
My “doc” is so shrewd
He sets the right mood
While you’re crying, he plays violin
(A friend of mine in a band deals with this issue)
In order to power the crowd,
Our bassist will turn it up loud.
But playing the drums
Near his amp always numbs
The side of my face – makes him proud.
If you DO it right, you’ll make a zither
Play notes that will tell her, “Come hither”
But if it sounds askew
Like a gnu with the flu,
Then her int’rest in you might just wither.
I hope I have not overridden
Your “strings” rules (in case it’s forbidden)
What my limerick brings
Are pianos (nice things!)
And they all come with strings, but they’re hidden.
A conversation I had with my dad when I was a kid (true story):
“Pick a musical tool if you yearn it.
I will buy it for you if you learn it.”
I said, “Harp!” He said, “Poo!
A tin whistle should do
For a small kid like you!” (no, I’ll burn it!)
His words poked me sharp as a thistle
The pain of rejection – abyssal!
He said, “Price is too steep”
He ain’t broke, he’s just cheap!
He can shove his damn (bleepin’) tin whistle!
Well, we did have an organ in stock
Which I played ever since I could talk
But he’d use it all day
I’d have nothing to play
With my talent delayed ’round the clock.
Years passed on; I played clarinet, flute,
Harmonica, autoharp (cute)
But my weakness is clear –
I play mostly by ear
Reading notes ain’t my nearly strong suit.
In my teens, I received an old fiddle
Played a song in ten minutes (a riddle!)
But now, my first choice –
A guitar with a voice
And jam sessions rejoice as we diddle.
(Geez, five flippin’ verses, what’s with that?! I’ll tell ya what: I started off with two and wanted to end it right there, but I saw how it ended so negatively and had no closure, so I decided to bore readers with one more verse of life story stuff. Still a bad sad ending. Okay, one more update, and make it a happy one, I told myself. But more things happened as I approached old age. So one more verse gave me the closure I needed)
(Oh, you patient people, you!)
We once played a prank on John’s cello
We filled the damn thing full of Jell-O.
When he started to play,
The thing started to sway,
Came down crashing and sprayed the poor fellow.
The audience roared; what a scene!
The best part – it was slimy and green!
‘Twas obscene, we felt mean
So we helped with hygiene
And mopped everything clean and pristine.
A small family of local talented musicians I know called Trinitude write original songs and sing and play numerous musical instruments, including a hurdy-gurdy. Fascinating thing; sounds like a cross between a violin and bagpipes. It produces sound by a hand crank-turned rosined wheel rubbing against the strings. The wheel functions much like a violin bow, and the melodies are played on a keyboard with a finger to activate notes, pressing small wedges against one or more of the strings to change the pitch. (good golly, the story’s longer than the limerick!)
Farmer Zeke had a nice hurdy-gurdy
And oh my, that cute thang sure was purdy.
He uses his finger
Till sounds she makes linger
Now dontcha go thinkin’ thoughts dirty!
A two in one:
Like a link at the end of a chain,
Their last song in this concert would reign.
Reed and Juber had played
Two guitars whose sounds made
Them get big accolades for “Last Train.”
The cop asked the drunk in the rain,
“Where to? It’s past midnight! Explain!”
“To a lecture; can’t wait!”
“Who gives lectures this late?”
“Just my wife, sir, the great ball and chain.”
At the top of the nation’s food chain,
Sits a predator lacking a brain.
He attacks and rampages,
Leaves children in cages
His cruelty’s outrageous, insane!
Has your toilet gone out of control?
I see nothing is plugging the hole.
It’s the flapper again!
Got detached from the chain
And the water can’t drain to the bowl.
We have got to repair this thing quick
‘Cause the poo smell is making me sick!
It is curdling my brain
So let’s fix that damn chain
Before I go insane with a stick!
Dolly dropped (in the sink) her gold chain
Called the plumber to unclog her drain.
He looked through, she did too,
But her chest blocked his view
Nothing much he could do but abstain!
(Another true story… oh yippy skippy, right?)
It was during one jolly jam session
I created a tiny transgression:
While I tuned my guitar,
Turned the string’s knob too far
Till the string popped, which marred self-expression.
I’m quite lucky the string was a B
If the damn thing, instead, had been G,
I would not hear the end
Of the jokes from each friend:
“Much too far you were bending, heehee!”
What they’d mean is, my “G string” had snapped
But what’s worse is, I would have felt trapped
When the music store clerk
Would guffaw, go berserk
And say, “Nice piece of work, want it wrapped?”
But if one day my G string should bust,
I’ll pretend to be ill and I’ll just
Buy all strings, one of each
I’ll avoid their free speech
No conclusion they’ll reach then, I trust!
(I was so tempted to keep my first phrase in Verse 1 Line 5 as ” … which marred my progression” instead of “… which marred self-expression” because the first one gave the verse the meaning I wanted, but I knew that “transgression” and “progression’ can’t be at the end of their lines within the one verse, as the consonants on the stressed syllables, “gr”, are the same, and that’s equivalent to saying the same word twice, which everyone knows is a no-no in proper limerick writing, but the switcheroo will have to suffice [why can’t I ever make a long story short?! Dang!])
It was time for the “Solo By Gail”
(Who was sure that her skills wouldn’t fail)
Felt her precious guitar
Would get her real far
Till she played a note not in the scale
above limerick: slightly revised:
It was time for the “Solo By Gail”
Who was certain her fame would prevail
Felt her precious guitar
Would get her real far
Then she hit a note not in the scale
Miss Lily, “The Symphony Slime”
Figured out something truly sublime
Played the harp with both feet
Which just couldn’t be beat
Cuz she finished in half of the time
Performing with symphony strings
In discomfort an itch often brings,
He scratched with his bow
Thinking no one would know;
But zippers are weird-sounding things.
A virgin viola named Vera
Fretted opening night taut with terror.
“If I whinny or whine
When my beau’s strings touch mine,
The whole world will hear of my error!”
The current Limerick-Off ends tomorrow, Saturday, at 10 pm (Eastern time.) So please get your limerick stragglers in.
She is not just the old ball and chain
She will care, make you laugh, ease your pain.
She’s as smart as a book
And you’re never a schnook
And she will let you cook with champagne!
The band who first smashed their guitars
Were very good friends of ours.
We said, “At the end of your gig,
Smash all of your rig
And it’ll make you Overnight Stars.”
Kenney on bass, Johnny as lead,
Me drums, who else would we need?
Then Jason on fiddle
Soon solved that riddle
And proved he was needed indeed.
I know of a clever Great Dane
Who happens to live in my lane
She sure can do rhymes
As easy as limes
But don’t ever yank on her chain.
There once was a rooster named Rain
Who lived on a window pane
He thought he would die
Unless he could fly
But sadly he was tied to a chain.
Come thunder or lightning or rain
I tie myself up with a chain
I ramble and I prowl
I snarl and I growl
Perhaps you are right – I am sane.
Who knows who is nutty or sane?
One wonders and thinks all in vain
Your brisk is my lazy
My sane is your crazy
Oh please won’t you undo my chain?
The ghost came rattling a chain
To stop him I tried but in vain
The spirit so mean
Created a scene
And all of my guests turned insane.
There once was a rooster named Rain
Who lived on a geometric plane
He thought he would die
Unless he could fly
But sadly he was tied to a chain.
There once was a young lad called Shane
Who played with his ball and his chain
While serving his time
Because of the crime
Of stalking a singer called Twain
Cartoons, way back when, would excite
All us kids, as we laughed with delight
Geppetto was sharp
Minnie Mouse played the harp
That Walt Disney was sure”out of sight”
Mad: above limerick, L1 should not read “did excite”
It should read “would” excite.
Could you please change that word for me?
Thank You
Lisi
****
Done.
String ensembles are musically mellow;
I’m a center front row type of fellow.
And if she’s a flirt,
I can peek up the skirt
Of the woman who’s playing the cello.
String ensembles are musically mellow;
I’m a center front row type of fellow.
I’m also a flirt
And may peek up the skirt
Of the woman who’s playing the cello.
(This variation has the speaker taking responsibility for his actions, instead of blaming the woman.)
L4 – And may peek… ( to make it a possibility)
Thanks, Mad.
**
Changed it for you.
I’m now at the end of my chain–
at this hour only die-hards remain.
We’re still linked to the Muse
who will not let us choose
to refrain from that one last refrain.
.
Thanks so much everyone for another fun two weeks of limericks. This Limerick-Off is officially over. And the winner is…
Limerick-Off Award 338. Congratulations to the winners!
But you can still have lots of limerick fun because a new Limerick-Off has just begun: Limerick-Off Cash.