Once a poem was written by Goethe
On a subject he shouldn’t have ought’a
Translated, lost its soul
And became very droll
And made Goethe a little bit fraught’a
I once wrote a poem in French
About a young big buxom wench
She found a young beau
And he made her glow
On the cold wooden church bench
I was asked to translate a poem
By someone, but I didn’t know him
It didn’t make sense
And I became tense
So, decided that I wouldn’t show him
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