A game made for kings To test one’s whit You pull the strings But Sometimes it makes you throw a fit

I can be in your garden. Very close to lettuce. I can be on a deck, to block partial, vendettas. I’m usually found by various vines. Through my windows and crosses, Nature weaves its design.

What’s heard with classic-toon, frying pan knots. Though typically, metal to metal it knocks. Urban Diction resides, when it’s first is ‘S’ swapped. First and second fused to one, Joe Dirt’s catch phrase unlocked.

I stretch in cars both long and wide, a steel-bound giant built to glide. With caboose trailing at the end, my conductor checks each car within.

Are you in pain, or shivering a bit? You can buy pills from me, nothing illegal about it.