The Reaper Of Spam

The Grim Reaper of Spam,
wearing a kilt of hopscotch and dirty underwear,
came a’knock-knock-knocking on my door.

Bearing flowers and blue can,
Of Spam, of course, held to his crotch by pubic hair,
He came a’knock-knock-knocking.

The Grim Reaper of Spam,
Said as he proffered his huge crotch of pink meat fare,
“This is a eulogy for knocking-up your knotty door.”