It’s a coconut. A wom wom coconut.

Word up my wrong-doers the wicked and the vicious. It’s coming back strong from an existencisial crisis
So you better shit yourself and not be dismissive ‘cause your end is nigh and it’ll go like this.
I say, wom wom, it’s wicked and it’s ill. Just to let you know how a disco-ray feels.
You’ll dig it and you’ll love it and you’ll ask for more. Then you realise it’s killed you and you fall down on the floor.
One panel two panel three panel four.
Or in a beam like a tractor your protest will not factor
in it’s coconutty judgement
Like you never thought about the protests of those defenseless tacos
And now it’s got you it’s really got you swinging from the gallows
Like a swinging porno remix while the crowd goes wild, yo.

It’s a coconut. A wom wom coconut.

With a narrative flow that’s loose like jazz(insert missing syllables here), as
Our spherical brown friend adventures on through time and space
To do justice to this strip I have to rhyme with a whole lotta vocab. I’m taking humour serious. Or even egregious.
Twisting rhyming couplets to manufacture hits. To employ a metaphore that’s a hit
Like a killing blow to an international super fiend. Coconut ninja shit.
But this aint no grand master, more of a pina colada. Staying sweet like a nut, sweet like Tropicana.