Oh Sammy dear you sent a swarm of (brain) worms on a crazy path
they embedded themselves in Mom's head.
Our poems are most often about pussy cats.
Odd(ly) this one is all about an octOpussy
Whom I understand is not a bit wussy.
Her name is Olive Oyl.
She can be pushy
Popeye the Sailor is her man
He can open a can with his bare hands
His love is true he spoils her with mushy words.
He sings of his strengths while puffin' on a pipe.
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