“Tut, Tut!”
(Tongue-clucking grammarian, yo.)
“Tut, Tut!”
(Check your punctuation.)
Anybody, wonder what you’re up against?
You get clucked at. Dense: your best defense,
you jest. Relent! You’re too bright not to do it.
I go “foopth” on that (an onomato-poo-ic).
And while I’m on the topic of Frontalot’s tongue,
I should mention that it’s knotted but it comes undone,
and as it unravels, the cluck emits.
The discipline in your ear, stuck in your head like a hit (goes):
“Tut, Tut!”
“Tut, Tut!”
Listening to hit records led to your sad state.
You ought to take talk seriously. Put it to pate
and it’ll seep in. That’s my supposition.
And I suppose, in subjunction, if it did, I’d listen
to what you said next for once.
It’s imperative! Take off the hat! The dunce
needs it back and Front’s on track to your brain.
Seek now to retrain. The nerdcore refrain (goes):
“Tut, Tut!”
(Tongue-clucking grammarian, yo.)
“Tut, Tut!”
(Check your punctuation.)
Quit arguing! You need your verbs to agree
with their subjects’ relative plurality,
and I cannot believe grad school let you go
when flunking is the only present participle that you know.
Setting my flow by the modal auxiliary, yo:
I should, shall and ought to aim the artillery
so high overhead. Struggle to rise.
One day, issue. The syllable that I emphasize (goes):
“Tut, Tut!”
“Tut, Tut!”
I will throw tuts at inelegant couplets.
You want to talk at me? You need more than luck, wits
and charm when the tongue comes clucking
every line you lay down, every error you tuck in.
It’s true I’ve been guilty on more than a song.
I don’t preach how I practice, and that’s lifelong.
If it’s mine, I’m gone; can’t reverse engineer it.
But when y’all fuck it up, me and I get to hear it.
“Tut, Tut!”
(Tongue-clucking grammarian, yo.)
“Tut, Tut!”
(Check your punctuation.)
