Here is my 9 part free-verse poem. They shout, When you're Scout, And they keep on the chatter, You shatter their team, For when you wield, The goddamn Back Scatter. Gib them, Hit them, It doesn't matter, For when you garden, They become flatter. Burn them, Turn them, Into a filet, As you keep WM1ing, Your fire is bright as day. Charging, Targing, They may pay, But the reach of the Eyelander, Is much to say. Big man, Big meal, May seem like a great deal, But if he wields such as a pan, Hug him? Yes you can. Denier, Supplier, May seem boring, But it's worth it, To see the Scout's tears pouring. You go to the doctor, He may give you a shot, It might sting, But if you stay still, He may give you a lollipop. Piss and diss, You might not be in fear, But when he's behind the scope, The forecast comes in clear, Lots of pink mist. Bonjour, Let me give you a tour, Of a place called hell, The first stop? It'll be the ride of your life; It's the end of this knife.