The inaudible counter counts endlessly
And his friend the pie baker friendlessly
I shovel small pebbles with a broken pen
Continuing the work of Franklin, Ben
The counter of the inaudible type
Counts the pennies through the night
He counts and counts with depression creeping
Penny after penny when his wife is sleeping
The baker bakes pies to customers fill
As an oak tree grows moss, never will
So is he broke from not baking, no
Because he is baking as space will show
My broken pen is a poor gravel mover
As told from dead people like Pres. Hoover
His peoples peoples people worked on a dam
Still shoveling after, from government ass ram
So Mr. Benjamin Franklin, o high and mighty
One c-note bets he wore whitey tighty
His works were great and never stagnant
Because he knew grandma couldn't get pregnant
My lament is finally over done
To the driest shower i must run
Naked and naked in the place
With that thing that helps no race
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