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Fat ridiculous Lemon hooked his thumbs in his suspenders
And leaned back against his desk.
Lime felt uncomfortable, they had not always been friends.

“I give you the Lemon pledge:
Together a delicious soft drink we shall be!”

fast forward 100 years
and the lymon is still the nigger of the fruit-world.

House silent and still, children in slumber,
a catflat did creak as WEFAIL did creep under.
They crawled through the kitchen, the pantry, the fire.
As they searched for HOT POCKETS they began to perspire
“we know you are here!” they whispered in silence,
on the staircase, little feet.

This would all end in violence.

“HOT POCKETS HOT POCKETS we just want a taste!”.
Those feet, they grew closer, “there’s no time to waste”,
so with hatchets and hammers WEFAIL had to pounce,
“I’ll cut off its head, yet not spill an ounce!”.
As they chopped here sliced there, a parent appears,
“I’ll hide the carcass, you eat the ears!”
and they scoffed and devoured as the adult grew closer
“not a whisper, not a sound” as they hid by the bolster.

They crept passed the TV and out to the yard,
in the shrubbery they lay down, curled up yet on guard.
As the danger did pass, they emerged from the lawn,
“its getting so light, we must out trot the dawn”.
So they skulked off together, so skeletal, down the street.
“Oh HOT POCKETS, HOT POCKETS, one day we shall eat!”.