Faux Be Real (or Raid on a Chip)

I am not sure - Just having some fun i think. you can be the judge (as always)

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The Faux Is Real; Bad.

Good marrow, she sed,
    Glutting the excess off her skin

Good gray rage maintains 
Range three quatre centre
All misty pithy eyed fat
    Around the middling

Distance - He used
    The formal reply
As she twere
His better.

All a sodden storm of failing
Down a chaos of dorics
Rose petaled from the grunt.

From the sweety sweaty chops
Of old Medusaula (Grunty
Crunchy the old trainys 
Gov bull fullish voyeurgins
A wight royal rooking ober)

    Bone Up Win Now Bone Up Now Win
Incessant Doric chaunting.

    And she pulled the flat 
Of the pork bone essence out
The floods of 'erobe 
    Awl drippy droopy with fig paste
And appletdumping snores.
    (Sharpened for days
    Rubbed against the rood
    Of the mystical rukh)

She plungerd the sparkling
Bone intwo yon yore eyen.

    Gut winnowing my peat all
    Pedaling...

    (Fore now she used the formless
    Parting speak - 
    She is your butter).