There once was a fellow named Clyde,
Who tossed bodies off rooftops with pride.
He’d shout, “Catch this old geezer!”
And fling him with ease, sir,
Till the neighbors all thought he was fried.
But Clyde had a knack for precision,
His throws were a rooftop tradition.
He’d aim for the dumpster,
With a grin, not a fluster,
And score a perfect ten—what a mission!
Now, the old man he tossed was quite spry,
He’d yell, “Whee!” as he soared through the sky.
His toupee took flight first,
Like a bald eagle, well-versed,
And landed in a pigeon coop nearby.
So here’s to Clyde, the rooftop maestro,
His antics, a wild and wacky manifesto.
He retired from his hobby,
Opened a pizza joint lobby,
Where toppings now fly—extra pesto!