Wilder's in a mess, He cannot keep track, Of just where he's at, In his excuses stack, Cause he takes from the top, Should a fight he may lose, But they got shuffled up, So which one should he choose? He asked his kid brother, Who thought what he meant, Was to make up a new one, Like his head had a dent, That made the Bomber, Almost lose his cool, He didn't want an excuse, Trotted out by a fool, He had Shelley write them, And they're all graded A, And he'll never run out, From back then to this day,
Steady now! I mean, yes, clearly I'm up there with your Shakespeare on his average day, but when he's hitting top gear I think he's just above the standards even of lofty missives such as 'Stop the sucking of Ortiz' or The ballad of the mulleted boxer'. Not much above, it's close, but I think the bard shades it. On points. Maybe with doctored cards.
There's some real unscrupulous posters here nowadays, shame on them for turning their backs on the bomb squad, and abandoning Deontay in these complicated times.
If making excuses was considered a sport, when compared with Deontay all would surely fall short. For here is a man at the peak of his game, courtesy of a crayon lodged deep in his brain. Yet although he's a pro with respect to his bull****, in the ring his performance is quite frankly appalling. But if you were to ask him what he had to say, I'm sure that he'd tell you he's not lost TO THIS DAY!!
I filled up that notepad, With a well thought out reason, That the reason I lost, Was because of Mark's treason, Course he messed with my water, What else could I think, But my thrashing by Fury, Lay in what I may drink, Oh I knew that the fight, Was exceedlingly sus, So I'm throwing mark Breland, Under a bus,
When is Wilder going to do an interview? Come on journalists, sneak into his compound, the world needs to know about Team Fury's voodoo trickery
They whisked away. Ol' Deontay, Afore he could give us, The reason, That the trilogy story, Belonged to Fury, Surely mischief afoot, Even treason?
