His fists are faster than your eyeWhat he kicks flys to the sky
His stalker tricks just give him bliss
BUT NOW HE FIGHTS HIS NEMESIS
They come in many, he's alone
his whimpering is a painful tone
And over time they just come back
they never stop, this ugly pack
His Master is an old mystique
he taught him this old weird technique
Two fingers, that is all you need
around their head, then press with speed
he pressed and trained no rest allowed
and still they came in mass and crowd,
In time he'll beat them, that I wager
After he grows...is no teenager
who he fought, is what you ask?
Why they were just such a task
The answer is as often simple
you name them zits and sometimes pimple
conclusion:
Some things you can't learn, they come with age
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