There is some pipe that make cities gripe
and cause us to shudder and think;
turn on the faucet and what have you got?
Water that’s not fit to drink.
Water that flows can give us the woes
because of a taste much like zinc;
then with your lips and your taste buds distraught,
water goes back in the sink.
Flowing below the city we know,
the liquid is clear and unique;
it can be cold and, with help, can be hot,
water for human critique.
Take out a glass and water will pass
from solid container to cheek;
yet with a taste that we’d rather know not,
water maintains its mystique.
When water comes we know we have Tums
in case of a tummy hoodwink;
and if it comes to a drinking boycott,
water receives notice pink.
All of us grin when water comes in
to be our delectable drink;
but when your drink makes you very distraught,
water and good’s out of sync.
Yet with a Pur we then can be sure
and regain our fine liquid link;
so we all cheer for that good taste we sought,
water that’s now fit to drink.
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