Don't know much 'bout epistrophe,
But this song is 'bout epistrophe.
I tell my wife, "There's a final hook."
Doe-? No. Gimlet-eyed her trenchant look.

But I know when this song is through,
Many times this damn phrase will accrue,
That is, this one: "'bout epistrophe."

I don't want to sing 'bout history,
I'd rather sing 'bout epistrophe.
Cooke's song was 'bout anaphora
Mine: after; his: an "afore-er."

Then my mate prates, "Hon, be done, be through!
Or from me a punch might ensue!"
What a puncherful girl she can be.

You too might say that I am imprudent
'bout epistrophe.
You say to me, "Why don't you be prudent, baby,
Cool it 'bout epistrophe."

So I switch to apostrophe,
Because she'd called down a pox on me.
I didn't want to get a right hook:
"D'oh!" It sufficed, just her trenchant look.

"I talk; I'm not addressin' you,"
I say. She ripostes, "No matter who,
What a maunderful churl you can be."

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah (apostrophe),
Naw, naw, naw, naw, naw, naw, epistrophe,
Eshew-ew-ew-ew-ew-ew final hook,
Eshew-ew-ew-ew-ew-ew trenchant look.

Then apostrophic chatting's through;
A stroke of annoyance will ensue:
What a punderful churl I will be.