Chalking his hand
Looking toward that 300 score
Lao Tzu had a hissy fit:
They ran out of Budweiser.
Dog Zen is easy
But you still have to do it.
Your way is hard
But you still have to stop it.
After you begin the beating of the bushes
Rip out roots, just to make sure.
Still, you'll have to use the chemicals,
Even still, you won't be close to pure.
Dead roots point a shine toward infinity
Looking from the back, clockwise becomes counter:
You can't fool me again, no friend would hold lies
No mixing is allowed without the chan master's affinity.
While this wild plant, it silently grows
The fraud primps and arranges the styles that he chose,
Further and further back from his chance:
He never entered into the source of romance.
If there's one lick of passion in your blood
You'll take to roaming with the dharma thugs
Where you'll learn the chod that cuts the bone:
Then again, the odds are you'll stay home.
Gold, a bad choice,
Steel is better.
How you 'spect to get around
Up there on that ladder?
Glory to God our Father in Heaven
Yes, just the way that it already is!
Our meal ends in a toast, better than ever
Ain't no complaints in this line of biz.
