NOT the Raven
Definitely Not the Raven by Edgar Allen Poe
By Karen Peralta, published Aug 07, 2006
Published Content: 34 Total Views: 14,323 Favorited By: 0 CPs
Where you once knew Timmy Leary,
(A chamber pot and nothing more.)
Over many a quaint and curious substance of forgotten lore,
(Hawaiian gold and nothing more.)
While I toked it, nearly napping, suddenly there came a rapping
The Black Eyed Peas - all gently rapping, snapping at my chamber shore.
“Tis some visitor,” they mumbled, “raping up my chamber poor,
Only this, no gay men Moors.”
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the Blake September
(sword fighting vampires – nothing gore.)
Of each separate dying ember
And its host that got all floored.
(They arrested Mexico – a Canadian store. When through the tunnel they all bored.)
Eagerly I wished tomorrow
Would pay me surcease of sorrow,
Borrowing that I could hammer in her stud upon the door,
For the rarest radiant maiden whose bull dyke I could ignore,
Only shit, and nothing more.
(Your chamber pot upon the floor.)
Presently my selves grew longer, hesitating then some stronger,
(As Black Elves There held a bonger, some bongs from my past Lenore)
“Sir,” said they, “Or maiden, truly your forgiveness I ignore,
But the facts are, we were napping, and so gently you came snapping,
And so fairly you came gapping, lapping at my chamber’s door,
Meaningless there, and nothing more. Fo’ shor.”
(Black Eyed Peas finally split for distant wars. I was so sore.)
When the Peas then left the building, still my soul there it was stilting,
For as the arrested Mexicans for their illegal stuff ignored,
And as I nodded, feeling nappy, suddenly there came Loud Snappy
As I realized my drugs were in less danger much for sure:
Mexico had been arrested, and the pot gone out the door!
ONLY SH-T NOW, NOTHING MORE!!!
“No,” said the last Pea, simply shifting, and instead my soul uplifting,
Surely someone, I thought to myself, would take pains to me ignore,
I would smoke pot, and nothing more. Maybe salmon, I implore,
As an Indian, as a Black, or as anything else that snores.
Only pot, and nothing more, as your raven ate the door.
(E. A. Poe died of the sauce made of Brazilian guano galore.)
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