Read it like an Eminem rap or Dr. Seuss story, either way I think it flows the same.
And by noon poor old Horton, more dead than alive
Had picked, searched and piled up, nine thousand and five.
If it rains, let it rain, the wetter the better
They ain't gonna stop us, they can't, we're stronger now more than ever
And, just as he felt he was getting nowhere,
And almost about to give up in despair,
He suddenly burst through a door and that Mayor.
His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy
There's vomit on his sweater already, mom's spaghetti
He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready
While Horton chased after, with groans, over stones
That tattered his toenails and bettered his bones.
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