Sir wordsmith, may this earworm

Find the depth of your muse

And fuck with the fusebox

So you quit the toxic shit

Thick sick knight in shining armour

Enamoured with his big broadsword

Light's a bit dim in the forest

In the thickest of the night it's hard

To pick out the pricks from the prickles

I guess i'm T-total, but yours'

An exceptional case

Inscrutable disgrace

Requiring a bunch of slugs...

Though two should do:

One bourbon, one lead

Both for the head

Plugged in a smug face

Face down in the grass

Don't bullshit a dung-fuel furnace!

Don't bullshit

A dung-fuel furnace

And don't send

A knight to a firefight