Once upon a midnight purple,
oceans churned with maple surple.
Pancake ships with waffled decks
held berried treasures from Uzbek-
A-Something-East on Daddy’s map.
“Butter me timbers!” yelled Flap Jack,
“For thar she blows! The great white fluff!
A thousand whippings made her tough!
In all my days upon this ship,
Ne’er man or beast licked Reddi-Whip!”
The crew, they cried; the crew, they screamed,
for deadly tales of whipping cream
set knees to knock and hearts to pound,
until they heard the steady sound
of boots, clomp clomping on the wood.
Blueberrd the pirate boldly stood,
face to the wind, eyes to the surf,
“Man the cannons, hold your turf!”
Projectiles soared into the sky,
while berries fell both far and wide,
until the mass of whitened puff
cried that she’d had more than enough
of Blueberrd, Blueberrd surple bruncher,
latke raider, hotcake muncher.
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