Heroes in a Half Shell

Four wise old me, lived five hundred years ago.
Changed the way we think and reversed the status quo,
Perspective perfected, their minds were infected
With moving us on, as if heavenly directed.

Da Vinci was the greatest and seemed to do it all,
He thought outside the box, hanging masterpieces on the wall.
Even flight was on his mind as others scratched their heads
And nothing held him back except the worried Holy Feds.

Next came Donatello making statues with his hands,
Using such fine detail he would fuss about the sands
Marble, limestone, granite quartz,
He'd use them all and even warts
Were put upon his famous faces
And all sent around to different places.

Now Michelangelo lay on his back
and crippled lying on his paint soaked mac.
The Cysteine Chapel thanks him still
Decorated by his mighty quill.
The cardinals now to this day,
Meet up and chat while the smoke is grey.
The tourists stand in awe and stare
At god and Adam in holy prayer.
Some person thought it a travesty
And covered up gods modesty
With a little nighty coloured pink
Its weird to think that at the very brink
Of Mans creation from the ground
It was gods attire that was so fround.

And then another; Raphael,
Created David under a spell.
He's made of bronze and three feet tall
But perfect even if it is quite small.

'Cause people realised even back then
That amazingness was in these men.
And to this day we look in awe
To tell our neighbours that we saw
In Paris, Rome and Florence too
While they just visited the zoo.

But in that time we've really tried
To destroy their honour, they would have cried.
For now upon our telly sets
They completely changed our view of pets.
Every Christmas now the kids all scream
"We want that turtle on the TV screen".

There's four of them live with a giant rat
Eating pizzas till they all get fat
And they fight their villain with their nightly calls
"Kowabunga dude" at Krangs giant balls.
Cause their evil foe looks like a testicle
All wrinkled in his man shaped vesicle.

So there you go that's how it ends,
Its a sorry state I'm afraid my friends.
These men of greatness will live on in name
As Warner hangs their heads in shame.
The sewer turtles from a studio
Are the only names the children know
And the four great men from the Renaissance
I'm sure would stare in quiet nonchalance
And shed a tear that their works of arts
Are remembered best in cartoon parts.