There once was a Count that was fond of how his panned cakes wouldn't bond To his front, or his rear On a shaved wolf he'd steer Those queer eggs with his buttered wand. He was revered across all'f the land him and his well cooked rock n roll band Of Fricasied Robbed zombies In Fitchingly felched Abercrombies "Underwear" Said the count, 'must' be always name brand. Because, to be caught with no name on your butt? While out Golfing the miniature putt putt course of action should be Shake twice 'fter you pee Lest the Count smell out your stain and spatulate...