Here comes the mouth drummers.
Hear the beats of gross rumblers.
They carry nothing but matters of others.
They wander about as news mongers.
They think their feet are beautiful,
But they are just rich in cuticle.
They meet up with quidnuncs,
Whose ears are itchy to nuts.
Sing the praises of Yentas.
They can't live without dishing
mortals.
Who has heard them talk about themselves in total?
Yentas happen to have nothing special.
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