Slip shod past the wimplebee
goes Woodriff Shloope, at half past three.
This Shlizzmagora found his way
to Littleman’s wharf, or so they say.
Then Woodriff’s portulimpical arc
sat still while still he could be park’d
at Donegal’s the story goes
to drink eleventy more of those.
Now, the dishlee, Grifflabasherim
found Woodriff Schloop and asked of him
to kindly wait till half past three,
to slip shod past the wimplebee.
Would someone please tell me what the hell this poem is about?