He shot his mouth off,
Sounding ridiculous.
He shot himself in the foot,
Only to put his foot in his mouth.
He would've turned a blind eye,
If the wool hadn't already been pulled over them.
He thought he had his eye on the prize,
Looking for his blessing in disguise.
Waiting for the other shoe to drop,
From the sublime to the ridiculous,
He found himself shaking in his boots,
Wanting only to fly to the south.
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