Our Father, who passed ace-seven,
Hi-lo be thy game.
Thy king will come,
Thy pot be won,
On a bluff as it is with sevens.
Give us this day, they'll be drawing dead,
And forgive us our tiltraises,
As we forgive those that tiltraise against us,
And lead us not into frustration,
But deliver us from Verbal.
For thine is the flop,
The turn and the river,
For ever and ever,
All-in.
I'm as religious as a fish but this is good.
Courtesy of Jackinbeat. Fine work.
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