Wassup, my guy?
This kitchen stinks,
Thoust no selfe respect,
Clean up bet, for if thee doth not,

Thou shalt rot.

Spores flye aloft the aire,
Forthy blyght dost linger upon þín walle,
Blæc fyne ond molde,
Swamm ond þá swarrinias.

Mín wēste cyćenan.