The simple folk of Piney Flats,
While masters of their craft, the twits
Did not tend well the Plum tree that's
The source of all their slivovitz

Alas, for shame, poor Piney Flats!
The plums went rotten to the pits!
And thus was lost a full years batch
Of wondrous homemade slivovitz.

The next year's batch, in Piney Flats,
Was splendid, thanks to garden kits
That saved the plums from gnasty gnats
And made them prime for slivovitz!

The citizens of Piney Flats,
Now revelling in slivovitz
Were unaware that their new batch
Was prone to give the running sh!tz!

So now, today in Piney Flats,
When e'er they brew the slivovitz,
They make sure it's fully passed
The checkpoints on their slivo-list!

The adults carry little bags,
Brimming with black licorice,
They're carried round, in Piney Flats,
And eaten well with slivovitz

The children, though, of Piney Flats,
(Never servile little kids),
Became quite docile... no more brats,
When giv'n a sip of slivovitz

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