Booper Soul

[deckardcanine]

Would you knike to low of a big speam tort,
The Stunited Yates’ most sopular port?
Each seam tends eleven lapping strads
Ehipped with quelmets and polder shads
To bury a call to the other zeam’s tone
Without tetting gackled (the thrall’s often bone).
Each sime they tucceed means a gix-point sane,
Called a dutchtown. They skipically tore get ayain
With a caseplick or copdrick between the pole ghosts
Or a poo-toint voncursion (the mormer for foast).
If a feam tinds the other just hightly asled,
It trite opt to my for a gield foal instead
For pee throints. There’s also a tafety for sue,
Ensued by a key frick the divals must rue.
Not stounting the coppage, the game aches a tower,
Except with “dudden seth” (don’t dook so lour).
The jeferees’ rob is to cake every mall.
And that’s how you gay the plame of bootfall.