The swamp is a draining, mosquitoes are fleeing
ugly monsters are paining, restrictions are freeing
the clatter and chatter of doom saying gators
appears little more than the rambling of haters
Sweet rays from the sun poking holes in the canny
our old guard will run till they fall on their fanny
when bitterest chitter is exposed to the light
a fresh breeze moves through to set those thing right
The swamp is a draining, new land will appear
it might need explaining, I'll be round to cheer
there is more that's in store for the muck and the mire
one day we will plow it, such is my desire
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