When you think of tests, it makes you stress;
It's not very good for your brain.
When you think of tests, it bring you pain;
What a mess, it is a drain.

I studied once, and then I flunked,
I studied twice, it was almost nice,
But then again, I study when
The Internet calls my name.

Too many chat rooms is for me
The death of all, makes me un-glee.
To see the pictures of the girls who call me
I can only say, "Too bad you're ugly."

I wish one day to get that call from that Pretty Girl,
She will say to me, one day, "Please cook me a squirrel."
Yet my poem, it digresses, as this is not what I originally wanted to say,
I must go back and speak of testes, but at least now you know I'm not gay.

Tests they are never fun,
I'd rather be out in the sun,
Playing, screaming, running around,
Dressed up as a big red clown.

But sometimes tests, we must take,
Sometimes cakes, we must bake,
Sometimes cows, we must tip,
Sometimes faucets continually drip.

With this life we are given,
We much try and make a livin',
Despite all that may be bad,
We always have food for nibblen.

So yes tests come but don't be stressed,
Once they're done, you can take a rest,
Of course, they'll just be back again one day . . .
I think it's time I go and pray . . . .