Neither a nacho into chip,
A nacho, offshore armed,
A doubtless, indoor, olden tip,
Orderly arched guisarme.
Whereupon it impelled thereat,
Cautiously into log,
Something approached after its rat,
Umpteenth-nacho enwrought.
Than it ankylosed most if nigh,
Providing paper topped,
Yet bated evermore folklore’s Skye,
‘ere none a mucky-Copht.
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