When you're writing like John Grisham
And your books do very well
You can print 'em on tin bedpans
And they will just sell and sell.
Like a salted nut you've tasted
Many, many times before,
Ev'rything may be familiar
But you can't help wanting more.
Could I write like Mr. Grisham,
Had I funds as he must have,
I would print my books on vellum,
Taken from the softest calf.
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