Roses are red I sniff marijuana I have five fingers The middle one is for your vagina
doctors in the middle ages, Plague doctor: "i must have some herbs to block out bad air" docters now: "God, wtf were we doing back then"
In this modern age, I feel as though it's inappropriate to make jokes about herbs and fish. It's not the thyme or the plaice for it.
As a kid used to eat a sour herb from a certain spot near a rock. Now I pee on just following the ritual of Africa.
In a bowl of golden delight, I savored each bite so bright, The potato salad, oh so fine, Left me feeling oh so divine.
The diced potatoes, oh so neat, In a dressing so cool and sweet, With onions and eggs, a treat, My taste buds did dance and greet.
The mayonnaise, a creamy dream, With mustard's zesty scheme, Together they did blend so well, My senses did take a spell.
The herbs, a fragrant delight, Added flavor with their might, Parsley and dill, a perfect pair, In this salad beyond compare.
So here's to the potato salad, A culinary work of art, That left me full and satisfied, And in my heart, a special part.
