I dearly love my Lotto shoes
because they are big and black
Neither tight and nor too loose
And all girly glitterings they lack.
My big black Lotto shoes have a fiery red
lining, about which in lore and legends is said
would make fully grown men themselves wet
and whimper back to their mothers in a sweat.
My shoes have a spacious front
Some of my weight they bear and grunt
That place is so palatial, that my toes
sneer and bare their imaginary butts to foes.
My toes dance the ballet and remain unchaffed
Play and make merry, and in an orgy are wrapped
There are no cuts, ahoy, or holes at the heels!
No contact with rain water, thus my skin never peels.
Ah yes, I recall, there is a hole at the toe indeed
The one I acquired while learning to weld metal sheets
But now is plugged with a mysterious mochi material
Ah mighty shoes! You withstood the heat of molten aluminium!
Sometimes when they bite my fair ankle
They are easily repaired, after leaving a sore spot
Bitey encounters that leave me rankled
But then what are creams and lotions for?
Most importantly, when filthy people stare at me
I look at my shoes and feel strong and mighty
And I think "Come on chap, dare you touch a hair on me,
These shoes will crack your nuts and make you flighty"
