Ok here's my attempt:
Ludwig van Beethoven had a wretched cook;
who could make him a good soup?
He got in a mood and threw a book,
as the servant was such a fool,
to lie and act like a mule.
Ach! Asses! Beethoven complains;
bad cooking gives him pains.
Only those whose heart is pure, will not find,
their soup on the floor.
Ludwig van Beethoven had a wretched cook;
who could make him a good soup?
He got in a mood and threw a book,
as the servant was such a fool,
to lie and act like a mule.
Ach! Asses! Beethoven complains;
bad cooking gives him pains.
Only those whose heart is pure, will not find,
their soup on the floor.
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