It is a harbinger:
There's a black cat, three-headed dog.
It is a harbinger:
The mirror's cracked; I gape, agog.

"So get your home feng-shui'd, dude!"
I paraphrase Dave's* line rude:
"Feng shui is garbage, sir!"

You know, I walked today
Under a ladder. What did I think?
You know, I trod this way:
Upon a sidewalk's segment chink.

I fall to earth, bawling moans;
My mate irately intones:
"Harness your harping, sir!"

When I'm home, reading in my large Psalter
'bout Lot's crone, then I spill larder's salter. . .
Shoulder!

I was a carpenter;
The foreman caught me sawin' log,
On the pink parchment were
The words "fired. . .sleeping. . .in a fog."

I left the highrise for home;
The lift got stuck in this zone:
On floor 13. "Oy vey!"

"Yeeoow!"

[Trombone solo replete with tritones]

My kid's birth date makes me moan:
"6/6/06!" I intone,
And I don't feel OK.

Now I clothe: I am a haberdasher.
I'm not loath to have in hand rabbit fur--
Foot fur.

I am a hard binger;
I'm swiggin' pitchers filled with grog.
I am a Harp binger.
Give us some Guinness hair of dog.

The rain falls hard. In my home,
You open brolly; I groan:
"It is a harbinger!
It is a harm-bringer!"
I drink a harsh Stinger.


*Letterman: "Feng shui is bullsh*t!"