Here come troll rank slop;
it’s yuck-gooey and gross me,
look like fugu eyeballs;
it ain’t for the polers.
We got to get down on our knees,
glom and all be throwers
of it onto the sea.

Me gotta hold rhin;
these guts nose-slam, appall;
me’ll get gunky fingers,
me crave nosey-holder.
They say, “It’s on you to hold the
bucket, though it smell ‘whew!’
piscatorially.
Chum together, right now,
nose-scourged three.”

We gag; eruption
seems might from our guts shoot—
stream it right overboard,
see some briny snacks' surge.
We dump greasy grossness lib’rally
into the water where
it’s a tease makes fishies
clump together for chow:
haute cuisine?!

We troll from boat, search
with our sonar warning.
But it’s chummy water
we love choked with pilchard.
They say, “Dump this clumped gunk in the sea.
Gonna be good cooking, what we catch, chumps, you’ll see!”

Chummers never, we vow, will we be.
Chum together? No!
Chummers, never, no…!