How many ways did I hit thee for a four, let me count the ways,
The hooks, the cuts, the drives, and then there were glances.
The next one merited a single run, may be one more,
But deflected by the fielder’s hand, it went for a four.
Then came the last one in the hole, in pace lacking,
But I was too brilliant for that, and sent it packing.
There Rangin, I had hit you for six boundaries in an over,
A fact I will never let you forget, you suck as a bowler.