Poem -

5 Million

Last year, I found five million dollars in a briefcase.
The owners want it back, I'm constantly being chased.
I barely escaped when they shot my testicles with a gun.
Now it's impossible for me to father any daughters or sons.

They threw me off a building and I landed in a truck of cat litter.
These people want their money back, they're angry and bitter.
If you find five million, you'd sure as hell better give it back.
Because if you don't, having testicles will be something you'll lack.

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