Niet van eigen hand, maar wel errug leuk 
The Drunk Poem
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Starkle, starkle, little twink,
Who the hell are you I think.
I’m not under what you call
The alcofluence of incohol.
I’m just a little slort of sheep,
I’m not drunk like thinkle peep.
I don’t know who is me yet,
But the drunker I stand here the longer I get.
So just give me one more fink to drill my cup,
‘Cause I got all day sober to Sunday up.