Master Splinter

(Sung to the tune of ‘Dear Winter’)

Sir Splinter, I know you fell into some ooze
But at least it kept you concentrating
not reciprocating blame or drinking booze
And multiplying as rats do.
And Splinter, you know you’re not to blame
For Shredder, The Foot, and that talking brain
‘Cause Splinter you’re a cowabunga rat
The dad of four ninja turtles is pretty fucking phat

Hi-ya, ah ah ah hi-ya
Pizza fills the bellies of the teenage mutant ninjas
Sensai Splinter, where’d you get the cash?
Was it a desperate dash across some roofs
to engage in combat with some punk-ass cats?
If so I say you earned that cash

Sir Splinter, I hope you know that it’s all good
Being part of my childhood on Saturdays
And teaching meditative ways to beat The Foot
Shredders just a bitch-ass crook!

Hi-ya ah ah ah hi-ya
Please don’t tell Leonardo, Raphael or Mike
but Donnies my favorite turtle tyke, you see.
Plus, put in a good word to Ms. O’neal for me
Also, if it’s all the same don’t tell Casey Jones, alright?

Master Splinter, Easton and Laird’s main rat
I heard they no longer talk that much
For you that must equate to the word drat!
Don’t worry though I’m sure some day that you’ll be back.

If you enjoyed this little rhyme check out volume 1 of ‘The Kiln’

BY: CHAROLETTE S. WEBB

Published by

The White Raven

Writer, author, philosopher, philanthropist, poet, imbecile, denizen gypsy. A rare bird of sorts is what you'll come to think of me. I love to write, play, and work diligently to prove one day fiction will become a reality. I'm very simple when it comes to my views on life, a backpack is ideally my best friend and I found my mistress with paper and pen.

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