The drunk poem

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Starkle, starkle, little twink,

Who the hell are you I think.

I'm not under what you call,

The alcofluence of incohol.

I'm just a little slort of sheep,

I'm not drunk like thinkle peep.

I don't know who is me yet,

But the drunker I stand here the longer I get.

So just give me one more fink to drill my cup,

'Cause I got all day sober to Sunday up.

 
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