The Holy Scripture of Rizz
Gather close and lend an ear,
For sacred tea is brewing here.
A tale of old, yet told anew,
Of silver screens and steaming brew.
a hot compress of leaves, a lovely britsh cuisine
whom fills the minds of those who hear, information for you and me
a tale of secrets to tell, a story that will be swell
filled with love but just a swizz, but overflowing with infinite rizz
the rizz has kept the edge streak, and the gooners will beat meat
one to tell is to seek, a rizz story not meant to keep, once evry’ 10,000 years or so
when the sun doth shine, and the moon doth glow
the grass doth grow, the rizz doth flow
The kettle sings with steaming grace,
A tale unfolds at cinema's place.
The popcorn flew, the lights grew dim,
Yet every eye was fixed on them.
The crush did smile, or so we're told,
A sacred tale worth more than gold.
The theater guild did witness all,
Though none dare let the spoilers fall.
Once every ten thousand years complete,
The tea is poured, both rich and sweet.
Now spill thy brew and hide no more,
For rizz demands the lore in store.
The kettle cried with mighty hiss,
Foretelling scenes of awkward bliss.
A maiden fair, a silver screen,
The greatest tea hath ever been.
The popcorn served as sacred grain,
Whilst hearts did board the shipping train.
The ushers knew, the chairs could tell,
The aura rang like chapel bell.
When danger came with fearsome fog,
Most choose to fight or flee the bog.
Yet one soul chose the fabled way,
"I shall but mog," he dared to say.
The rizz was cast, the vibe was steeped,
No secret long was safely keep'd.
Now spill thy brew, conceal it not,
Reveal what happened in that spot.
Once every ten thousand years complete,
The tea is poured, both rich and sweet.
The sun doth shine, the moon doth glow,
The grass doth grow, the rizz doth flow.
The theater folk did watch in awe,
As fate obeyed no mortal law.
No dragon came, no kingdom fell,
Yet all desired the tea to tell.
The stars aligned, the omens spoke,
The soda fizzed, the silence broke.
The trailers passed, the lights grew dim,
The universe bet all on him.
The ancient council took a vote,
The wise owl cleared his feathery throat.
"Fight or flight?" the elders cried.
"Nay... I shall mog," the champ replied.
The aura peaked beyond all scale,
The legends spread from trail to trail.
The bards now sing in every hall,
Of one who mogged before them all.
So raise thy cup both far and near,
And honor this most blessed tea here.
For generations yet unborn
