What dire offense from Pumkin springs,

That spurs New York to squawk such dreadful things?

To unleash this torrent of profanity,

And gnash her teeth with near insanity?

He is no Romeo, to say the least,

Who’s turned these women to wild beasts

This Casanova, this roguish knave –

Why! Tis none other than Flavor Flav –

A wrinkled rapper past his prime,

Who now and then still drops a rhyme.

No Apollonian curls adorn his head –

A Viking helmet takes their stead.

One girl will rise above the rest

Of those who for Flav’s love contest –

A lucrative though modest prize,

For Flav’s not easy on the eyes.

Of true romance there’s not much hope

But his mansion’s sick, and his clock is dope.

And so we now return attention

To the Pumkin and New York dissension.

They stand, with Hoopz, all in a row –

Two can stay, but one must go.

Some guardian Sylph must be nearby

Cause for New York the end’s not nigh –

To her most supreme elation,

It’s Pumkin facing elimination.

“Bye Pumkin…You’re gittin’ the door!”

New York crows to start the war.

Pumkin fires with equal hate

A nasty jab at New York’s weight.

And from this point all stops are out:

New York’s swagger ’gainst Pumkin’s pout.

Pumkin shrieks, an awful sound,

While New York proposes Botox rounds,

And Hoopz with dignified dismay,

Tries to remain above the fray.

In Pumkin, now, something snaps –

She shouts New York deserves a slap.

But New York’s in for quite the scare –

What happens next has no compare.

New York prepares to dodge a hit,

When in her weave lands a glob of spit,

Propelled by Pumkin with furious pace –

It wipes the smirk off New York’s face.

Seized by some inhuman rage,

She claws at Pumkin’s shoulder blades,

Her eyes are bulging, teeth are bared,

Saliva sparkles in her hair,

As Pumkin’s tears drip down her nose,

Her fleeting fame has reached its close.

“Flavor of Love” they call this game,

As through the dirt they drag Love’s name –

Marring man’s most precious treasure

With spectacle for viewing pleasure.

Oh! With what distressèd pathos,

Should we mourn this shameful bathos.

Disgruntled at this hullabaloo,

Flav bids Pumkin cold adieu.

Long ago must seem the hour,

When life was simple as fighting the pow’r.

A drug war or a prison fight,

A stay in Rikers Island overnight –

All surely milder to withstand

Than a barrage from Pumkin’s salivary gland.