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Speculating King Tut Boy King of ancient Saharan sand, Mysteries of death solved when scanned By a new expensive imaging machine Rumors surfaced you might really be a Queen. But 'twas decided that wide hips and boobs Were additions of sculptors sniffing funny tubes, Or you thinking that you were both woman and man, Maybe you preferred cooking up Chicken Divan? Bad foot, bad leg - hunting accident my ass, I bet you just got frisky with the wrong Nubian lass. And a blow to your head deemed attempted murder? Walking with a cane, you were likely a goat herder. No matter the cause - malaria, spoiled mayonnaise, Sheer clumsiness or too many sunken soufflés, History glorifies you and your fortune, untold, You'd be just another numbered mummy without all that gold!
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