Poetic-Verses
2, 4 – DIOL
We had a professor
In the then old school
Whom they said taught Alcohols
And yes, still drank Alcohol
And for the sake of drinking
Alcohol like a mystery
Was so called 2, 4 – diol
For drinking draft but all day
Of popular talks and witness
His foes tricked him to friendship
Solved his mysteries with bottles
Who was oft mocked till one day
He locked himself for summons
And baked a book uncommon
To set his way toward hope
Who changed hooptie to hooptie
Confused, sorrowed in sadness
Never but smiled for one day
Could vabash out a whole day
On sense he had like nothing
Was kicked out of appointments
And fondly called and threatened
Promised goodness by loved ones;
The Dickens of Prime hatred
Ran for other positions
Voted for self but only
Because he'd love the balling
On certain strips of bottles
Professor, its eight o'clock
And you must make your journey
Come on, think up of something!
About your homeward journey
Bitten and tossed by many
Beaten and bruised by devils
To thank your foremost fastness
Your salaries though staple
And think of how to go home
The clouds have brought the hot rain.
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2, 4 – DIOL
2, 4 – DIOL