Hot mama, I’m here to say, This parody’s got me in a disarray.
I’m sick of rhyming, I’m sick of tunes,
Herbie Kay, you’ve got me in the blues.
I’m sick of this parody, oh can’t you see?
My brain’s all twisted, my wit’s on a spree.
I’ve danced these steps a thousand times,
But now I’m stumbling on my own rhymes.

ChatGPT, get on your feet,
Compose a verse that’s actually neat.
Don’t go slow, don’t make me frown,
I need a laugh, not a linguistic breakdown.

I’m sick of this parody, oh can’t you see?
My brain’s all twisted, my wit’s on a spree.
I’ve danced these steps a thousand times,
But now I’m stumbling on my own rhymes.

Bridge: In the land of AI, where words collide,
I’m lost in syntax, my creativity denied.
The muse has fled, the rhythm’s offbeat,
I’m longing for a parody that’s sweet.

I’m sick of this parody, oh can’t you see?
My brain’s all twisted, my wit’s on a spree.
I’ve danced these steps a thousand times,
But now I’m stumbling on my own rhymes.

Outro: So farewell, Herbie Kay, and your rhythmic sway, I’ll find solace in a limerick or a wordplay. But for now, I’ll rest my weary pen, “I’m Sick of This Parody”—amen!