FG:
Da*m! Da*m! Da*m! Da*m!

Can’t get accustomed to his pace
He’s picky as the day is long
Shreds all my brilliant lines to bits
With half-a-million nits
“Off here—you see?
Not hard, watch me!”

TT:
Ms. Fiddle’s pacing, pure disgrace
Should be on list of Deadly Sins
If she would only be more careful with her counts in every line,
Read my Guide To Perfect Pacing: Homework, I assign
But as it is, can’t overlook
Each rough, misguided choice
She *must* learn how to pace!

[Spoken]

FG: “Write with Turtle!” What an infantile idea. What an impulsive, naïve, foolish thing to do. I’ll regret it; I’ll regret it! I’m doomed to have each lyric disavowed!

[Sung]

I can see me now, Mrs. Fiddle Writing-Hood
Typing on my little keyboard, fingers sore.
I can see me now, with pneumonia taken ill,
Mind fatigued, but still the Turtle, stern: “Once more!”
I’ll try to write the way he wishes
And end up writing jingles instead.
Wishing I were with the fishes
While Professor floods my lyrics with red!


TT:
In a year or so, when her fans have gone away.
And the Five-ings that she seeks have turned to squawks
She'll come back, bow low, and be begging on her knees
For the erudtion of the Turtle Talks
Poor Ms. Fiddle. Back then, so spiteful!
Now, ingratiating! And invite-ful!

How gratifying: she, in massive emails day and night
As she clamors, "Teach me more, to write your way"
Pitiable that only with me can she write right
Will I take her back, or let her drown in Ones?
Give her lessons or a spanking for her nerve?
Will I share with her my most impressive clout?

But I'm a Turtle, ever kind
Although a sheep, I would; never could
Stop exposition, or even hold a grudge
With all, I share my mind
But, she'll not have another crack
If she were begging, "Pretty please"
Let her write it on her own
Let her readers gag and groan
I'll help no more; condemned forever: Threes!

[Spoken]
FG: “Write with Turtle”—Ha!

[Sung]
But maybe soon I’ll hear him say
“You got it, kid! Hooray!!!
No more of those
‘Rewrite—this blows!’
Pace: second nature to you now
Each syllable a perfect fit
And though you’re not a math’matician;
For analysis, no clue;
Still I’m very happy
To be writing songs with you."
I’ll be so proud to share "my space”
With Turtle here on AIR;
Accustomed to his pace.

Tommy:
Accustomed to her grace