The man spit while he spoke

Lisp-kissed lips

Stickly strictly crossed legs

While he held the microphone

An on-the-phone dissonant

Monotone note,

That left his throat

A note vibrant and low

A voice akin to a groan

But when he picked up his confidence

Than the groan become a growl

A vicious decadent elegance

When the king puts on his crown

So many people leave his show

By his shry small appearance

To never listen to a book they judged

Because they couldn’t bear to hear it