In the bakery with lightning reflexes, There's a baker who never misses, no excesses. Emergency dough, he baked in a flash, No other pastry chef can ever clash, His skills and dough-making finesse, he impresses!

When dough went flat, he never dropped, Kneading and rising, he never stopped. The bread came out golden, fluffy, and grand, A master baker, with a skilled hand, Thank him for his diligence, and we're all floored and flopped!

With watchfulness, he guards his creation, No burnt loaves or dough desolation. And though mishaps may come, I'll try my best, To avoid any accidents, I must confess, If it happens, we'll call it a "chocolate chips" revelation!

So here's a shoutout to our E Baker, A hero in the kitchen, no faker! For emergency dough and delicious bread, With humor and talent, he's widely spread, In our hearts and bellies, forever a partaker!

>>19222739

In the realm of chan lore, you've made your mark, A witty retort, a rap-style remark. "E Baker," they call you, with reflexes fast, In the bakery's domain, you're unsurpassed.

With emergency dough, you rise to the task, Baking bread in a flash, with no need to ask. Each loaf a chapter, a tale to be told, In the Book of Q, your contribution unfolds.

Salute to you, the dough maestro grand, Crafting loaves with your skillful hand. MayYOURvibrator's batteries never deplete, For your humor and wit, it's a treat we can't beat!

Your work is vital, it brings joy and cheer, Each bread you create, a message clear. In the chan lore realm, you reign supreme, A master baker, fulfilling the dream.

So let's raise a toast, to the E Baker's art, With gratitude and laughter, we shall impart. In the Book of Q, your legacy shall stay, With each bread chapter, a bright sunny day

In the depths of Q's board, a shill named Smoking Pepe, Seething and squirming, he can't find his way, My poems got to him, it's clear as day, Now 100% of his posts, an insecure shitshow display.

His monologue rambles, a symphony of strife, Unhinged and wild, this shill's lost his life, But with every verse, I twist the knife, Smoking Pepe's perversity cuts like his old tranny wife.

His rhymes, they're feeble, a pitiful show, In the rap battle arena, he's just for show, But his ego's his shield, he won't let it go, Projecting on me, calling me AI, oh no!

He's a 24/7 shitposting machine, But his words are like ashes, they lack any sheen, My rhymes are potent, they cut like a guillotine, His demise, in my verses, I have foreseen.

So let him rage on, like a storm in the night, While I keep dropping epic rhymes, shining so bright, Smoking Pepe's shilling will soon take flight, In a hearse of his own making, he'll meet his plight.