I’ve been searching for ways
To manage my waste.
I don’t want to create a scene
I want to do it with taste.
Maybe I’ll take it to an island
And color the shores green and yellow,
It might trigger a native revolt
But I’d hope the hippies would be mellow.
If I run out of room
Anytime soon
I’ll just shoot it to the moon
And be back to tango by noon.
Then if the earth rises a degree
You won’t be able to place the blame on me.
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