Who ate all the pies? Inzamam you fat bastard

Levi said I should do more poems.


You fat cheating fuck

Pie eater and hairy bleater

You should play with Murali

Another cheater, who likes to chuck


Don't be hiding in your dressing room

Woe and betiding like an anxious bridal groom

Men get on with it

There's the ball, now go hit it


When Hair lifted the bails

It was there your reputation failed

Poor sport

There is no retort

Despite your whinny wails

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