final song of Book 1, The Death of Pringle; by the poets

        
         WE 3 RECOILED,
AND LOSING OUR KEEP, WE FELL
FAST N2 SLEEP ON THE BONES
OF THE NORTH SHORE BEACH.
AND THE PEOPLE, ON SWARM
OUT THE ALL U CAN EAT, ATE
THE DUST-COVERED CHIP, LET
TING SALTS CRUMB THE MEAT
OF THEIR LOOSE UPPER LIP. WELL
IT’S BETTER THAN THE DINGLE
BERRY FULLY UP THE YAPPER
OF THAT PRINGLE IN A DUDE
NAMED LARRY-OF-THE-PEOPLE’S
THUSLY RUBBERED GUTS ~ ALL
TINGS ABLING A BLANKIE SHUTS.