Super Mario Maestro,
your bleeps and bloops
make me wanna do do do
do do do, do do do do do do,
ba ba ba! I smoke my mushroom
and Barrrump, I’m big,
and busting blocks is cracklecrash,
cracklecrash, and killing koopas
is bump, whing.
I kill another one: bump, whing.
And the jangly superstar:
I feel invincible when silly songs play.
Da do ron ron ron, da do ron ron
The quizzical fireballs (Blick? Blick?)
do the limbo
as my bounce
sounds like a cat
squished by a falling piano,
Whauoump! Whauoump!,
and I slide down the flag
obscenely as chump change
tinnily resounds in my bank account,
drowned out by cannonade fireworks.
And when I’m small,
tricked by little floppy heads
or nipped by flytraps,
I’ll have that shrinking sound
to comfort me: Lump! Lump! Lump!
Think of it: small, and in the castles
scored by Rob Zombie,
and thoughts of the princess,
and what sound she makes,
for Mario is blooped,
he’s in the mood.
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