He has no documents extant,
No records of His life.
No paper trail will find him out.
He's uncut by that knife.
He's American as baseball
And homemade apple pie;
But if you press his place of birth,
He'll spit right in your eye.
Don't seek his advent doctor's name.
A COLB is all you'll get.
Don't ask where his first squalls took place.
Just kiss his coronet.
He'll smile his Serengeti smile
And snare you with his spell;
But ere you learn where he was spawned,
You'll ice - skate, first, in Hell.
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