I am made of sticks of wheat
My ass is made of grain
I fell upon the cookie sheet
with poultry in my brain.
The cuckoo bird was half past X
The dancing in the streets
was hailed by subtle genuflects
and draped with merry meat
In time the fickle mind did cede
without a friend or bone
So nuns shall now forever breed
My name is Al Capone.
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