Well sometimes too heavily I lean on
Well-worn tunes by a group from the 60s.
As I sit and type my tripe, I keen on--
Make my cats freak out; claws out, they sic me.

It's not the best of the group's oeuvre I've chosen. . .
Many versions on site--one plus 73.
And of that number, I've written 8, quite a lot
On percentage basis, about 10.3.

Well, at least I'm not possessed by the de-mon
That sets my mark for "Spell"s at century.
If you think I'll rest my Hawkins quest, dream on,
But if you want to, well you can censure me.

While I lean and keen, there's spousal enragement;
Like my funky cats, she's not a fan of me
Cranking out fantasies; she says, "Clean the basement!
Wax that faded, dated, junky curse
We call a 'car,' laughingly!"

So I lie and tell her soon I'll clean on
Like a mad maid, obsessive-compulsively.
"Pump that arm; Pump that leg; hey, 'sailor,' go and scrub the head!"

Well, at least she's not started to beat on
Me, so I am working shamedly and so furtively.
Yeah, she's got me feeling that the heat's on
Yeah, yeah! To do another hasty take-off on "Let It Be."
Another!!!!!

[Errata, my muse of lyrics]:
So, get it on, writer; set sights on, writer, "Let It Be," writer!
Bitch* the Beatles' "Let It Be."
Get it on, writer; vest the site writer, yet with more, writer,
Botched take-offs on "Let It Be."


*bungle