Mark Kingmountainfry

There once was a fellow named Mark he did harbour a streak that was dark. In his strawberry pie he discovered a fly but was glad that it wasn't a shark. The above is all fine, also dandy and one day when this fellow drank brandy he got grease in his eye from the pan used to fry and he quickly called Handy Andy. And this poet wrote many a poem, takes a Shepherd-type expert to know 'em. He got sick of his name and commenced a new game, as to names, he then started to grow 'em. But he did have a sense of good humour he had grown it with care, like a tumour. When his fame reached a peak he doled out his critique but the bluntness is only a rumour.