Found on the Internet, dated August 14, 2000, and reproduced with the kind permission of the author (firstname.lastname@example.org).
James Fenimore Cooper’s a name
That is set in American fame
Well, it is just my fate
He’s an author I hate
For his writing is terribly lame
What! Captured by Indians again?
Well what else from Fenimore’s men?
I’ll cover my eyes
And utter with sighs
If this ever ends, please call when.
His characters mangle their words
In piffle ‘bout “buffaloe” herds,
While they hide out in grass
That won’t cover their ass. *
I say that this book’s for the birds.
He thinks girls are all weak and quiet. **
I’m sorry, i simply won’t buy it.
If I cannot flee
This man may soon cause me to riot!
Now please let me settle this straight,
There are very few authors I hate.
But this Fenimore man,
If ever I can, I will have his head served on a plate.
Oh terror! Oh horror! Oh spite! No matter how much I may fight,
Just to pass my Lit class I must get down to brass
Tacks and finish this paper tonight.
* the quadrupedal type.
** or if they don’t fit his stereotype, he calls them unnatural.