My sounds abounds with solecisms.
Far, 'way I stray
From correctitude. Scholacism's
Bane of the old-jokes play.

I've ground out one more troll'd creation.
Sadly I've blown
It with novel new innovation,
Yet on with old jokes I drone.

I'm a churlish cad whose dreary
Tunes comprise a tome
Of mangled parts of speech. . .be leary
Subpar these old jokes, I've shown.

All over participles wander;
They call them "hung,"
Because they dangle. And I maunder.
My professors are stung.

Reading this, my tune sure would bother
Their eagle eye.
Watch out, because I'm going to father
Another steaming pie.

Lurid verse that's almost nearly
Write, but wrong: I roam
In a realm that be, ye see, clearly
A pleonastic poem.

A little smut might cause some blushes,
But worse than love
Tune about a member that rushes:
Rhetoric'lly to rove.

Me be, ye see, lexic'lly lummoxed. . .
Cultivate loam
Of rules hummocks to not be flummoxed. . .
Send grammer-gaffe groans home.

Make a purse of silk from eerie
Of a sow; I'll show 'm:
Of f*cking up I won't be feary;
Profs know more at mouth will foam.