In the court, I dance and swing, with strings I sing, and bounce I bring.

Take a sip, no one has to know. Better yet, I'm just so easy to stow, always ready to go, and good to share with a bro.

I’m a desolate escape Or I’m lost in your couch Either way, I’m hard to find.

I start as one who has no home, I hold a circle in my core, My end's a queue, a verse, a row, As whole, I make the young ones soar.

Just my first three: in a pod of green. My last three: a rodent’s stash, both descend from trees. My rounds are chambered in a shell of tweed. Crack the case, of Planters’ face. The solid, not the cream.