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This is the legend of Cassius Clay,
The most beautiful fighter in the world today.
He talks a great deal, and brags indeed-y,
of a muscular punch that's incredibly speed-y.
The fistic world was dull and weary,
But with a champ like Liston, things had to be dreary.
Then someone with color and someone with dash,
Brought fight fans are runnin' with Cash.
This brash young boxer is something to see
And the heavyweight championship is his des-tin-y.
This kid fights great; heβs got speed and endurance,
But if you sign to fight him, increase your insurance.
This kid's got a left; this kid's got a right,
If he hit you once, you're asleep for the night.
And as you lie on the floor while the ref counts ten,
Youβll pray that you wonβt have to fight me again.
For I am the man this poemβs about,
The next champ of the world, there isnβt a doubt.
This I predict and I know the score,
Iβll be champ of the world in β64.
When I say three, theyβll go in the third,
10 months ago
So donβt bet against me, Iβm a man of my word.
He is the greatest! Yes!
I am the man this poemβs about,
Iβll be champ of the world, there isnβt a doubt.
Here I predict Mr. Listonβs dismemberment,
Iβll hit him so hard; heβll wonder where October and November went.
When I say two, thereβs never a third,
Standin against me is completely absurd.
When Cassius says a mouse can outrun a horse,
Donβt ask how; put your money where your mouse is!
I AM THE GREATEST!
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