Sentence The Onehundredandeightieth
 
In her delight that she'd someone to love,
Poor little Teri could not foresee,
As she quaffed of the cup that that she held to her lips,
That she was only destined to be
George Gill's Bird in a Gilded Cage,
A beautiful sight for him to see.
But the predominant thought in her 'prisoned mind
In the midst of the twists of it's own melee,
Would be of The Animals strident cry
Of the People who want and who strive to be Free,
The haplological hymn they would sing
From every branch of their blasted tree:
“We Gorra We Gorra Gerrouta this Place,
For it's not what it's cracked up to be!”