You Ought Not To Practice Childish Ways,

Porkchops And Bacon, My Two Favorite Animals.

Miserable Mortals Who Like Leaves At One Moment Flame With Life Eating The Produce Of The Land And At Another Moment Weakly Perish.

Now Deep In Ocean Sunk The Lamp Of Light, And Drew Behind The Cloudy Vale Of Night.

Generations Of Men Are Like The Leaves. In Winter, Winds Blow Them Down To Earth, But Then, When Spring Season Comes Again, The Budding Wood Grows More. And So With Men: One Generation Grows, Another Dies Away.

I Am So Smart. I Am So Smart. I Am So Smart. S-m-r-t ... Uh, I Mean S-m-a-r-t.