Tongue Twisting Poems

[RicoLouis]

*Edited*

See reason for editing. Feel free to write here, but no implying underage sex.

 

[Guest]

I'm not the fig plucker,
Nor the fig pluckers' son,
But I'll pluck figs
Till the fig plucker comes.

 

[Angeline]

I'm not the fig plucker,
Nor the fig pluckers' son,
But I'll pluck figs
Till the fig plucker comes.

The flocking two-fisted
fig plucker fogged out
and plugged off the freaking
chick stack fleeing fortuitous
claptrap, while the riffraff floundered
in thunderous famous ovations,
reverberations, retro retributions.
Do you take dictation?

 

[Guest]

The flocking two-fisted
fig plucker fogged out
and plugged off the freaking
chick stack fleeing fortuitous
claptrap, while the riffraff floundered
in thunderous famous ovations,
reverberations, retro retributions.
Do you take dictation?

My brain is twisted.



Mrs Puggy Wuggy has a square cut punt.
not a punt cut square,
just a square cut punt.
It's round in the stern and blunt in the front.
Mrs Puggy Wuggy has a square cut punt.

 

[Angeline]

My brain is twisted.



Mrs Puggy Wuggy has a square cut punt.
not a punt cut square,
just a square cut punt.
It's round in the stern and blunt in the front.
Mrs Puggy Wuggy has a square cut punt.

Mr. Figgy Wiggy has a tall trigger stick
he stuck in a pump locked trunk,
the key to which is width, witnessed
by whelter-skelter whelks and wished
on by trick-tripping runts who stack
the deck with stones and sing a peck
of bones songs, but Figgy moans long
(he's thick as a brick).

*blinks*

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I'm not the pheasant plucker
I'm the pheasant pluckers son
And I'm only plucky pheasants
Till the pheasant plucker comes