I can loan you credits,or I can give you clubs
But as Mendoza says,you must perforce,forego the dreary blubs
Stop the winsome weasling,curb the cursed cries
For know you not,into the face of optimist,it most surely flies
Grow a chin 'pon which to take,the knocks this life will grant
Vent no more 'pon grown up ears, your silly mindless chant
Take up thy sticks and with them thy sad balls
No more we wish,to hear your ranting bleating calls
So with this rhyme my offer first read I do recant
And offer now instead,wished for help,will indeed be scant.
Lizzie (xx moooowahhrr)