(***Ahem... Yes, let the games begin.) :)

I was kickin’ back one Saturday,
With nothin’ much to do,
When I perchance, picked up my lance,
Said, “Let’s kick an ass or two.”

Somethin’s stickin’ in my craw
It cannot be denied,
The Warrior Poet is back in town,
And it's eatin’ me up inside.

I’ve heard him boast how we’re all toast,
So smug and fancy-free,
Said he is known from coast to coast
As the King of Poetry.

I said, “Well, my name’s Bobby
And it would be a sin
To run and hide, or stand aside,
I’M the best there’s ever been!”

You talk about that carrot
As if you’re on a throne
But ‘fore I’m done, I’ll put it
Where the sun ain’t never shone!

I’ll mess up all your metaphors,
Cross your I’s and dot your T’s,
And when I’m done that verse of yours
Won’t even start to please!

I’ll top your rhyme and meter,
Hit your ego where it lives,
And all you’ll have left is fragments
And split infinitives!

So bring it on, ol’ Billy,
Let’s see who finally blinks,
We’ll let it ride, let them decide
Whose poetry’s good or stinks!