I know a French guy with forty hands.
They grow all over his torso.
People will stare, but he doesn’t care,
Not even the tiniest morçeau.
He’s a plumber who plays the piano,
And can do both at the same time.
He cooks very well, and what’s also swell
Is how he can act like a mime.
My many handed French handyman
Gives me lots of pleasure in life.
But I wish when he cooks and plays music
He would keep his hands off my wife.
The Daily Travesty 