STEVE JOBS WRITES A POEM

I tried to grab hold of my ladyfriend’s titty -
There’s a slap for that.

Phat beats from the ghetto are heard through the city -
There’s a rap for that.

My eyelids are droopy; I must needs to sleep -
There’s a nap for that.

Quick, comfort the baby, so that she not weep -
There’s a lap for that.

I need to go purchase a new pair of jeans –
There’s a Gap for that.

My bowel is full after eating baked beans –
There’s a crap for that.

The audience cheers for the acting I do –
There’s a clap for that.

I fear I am lost; O, how shall I get through?
There’s a map for that.

My head is so cold as the fall breezes blow –
There’s a cap for that.

And, should I need water, say, where does it flow?
There’s a tap for that.

Now, what’s to prevent my ball reaching the green?
There’s a trap for that.

For riders to hang on, in Brooklyn and Queens –
There’s a strap for that.