after "Power Bow" Knee Rodeo
I do not Summer Slam© you as if you were the People's Elbow™ or Spinebuster™,
or Brett "the Hitman" Hart of the Sharpshooter™ shoots off.
I Summer Slam© you as certain dark things are to be Summer Slammed,
in secret, between the WWE and the TNA.
I Summer Slam© you as the Batista that never power bombs
but moonsaults in itself the Mr. Socko of Mankind;
clothesline to your Summer Slam© a certain solid John Cena,
eye rake from the Razor's Edge™, knee drops darkly in my body.
I Summer Slam© you without piledriving how, or when, or from where.
I Summer Slam© you straightforwardly, without headbutts or chair shots;
so I Summer Slam© you because I piledrive no other way
than this: where I elbow smashes not dropkicks, nor you,
so close that Jake the Snake Roberts on my DDT™ is my DDT™,
so close that your Razor Ramon sleeper holds as I pin asleep.
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