Isn’t it the stuff of farce
When you get a silly a*se
Who says songs of hate he sings
Some sort of tradition brings?
This exponent of deep thought
Has his image brought to naught
By his followers who wee
Like a monkey from a tree.
If those sorts of lowlife scum
To the forefront ever come,
It will bring, to great degree,
Moves to total anarchy.
How is it that those who must
Bring one feelings of disgust,
To an influential spot
Can elect an utter clot?
These must be the utter dregs,
Only just onto two legs,
And should rather be kept caged
Till their brains are more engaged.
As for cops who do not see
An assault by means of pee,
Sent to cleaning toilets might
Set their observations right.
All these types should be exempt
From our notice and contempt
For the reasons that they are
Quite beneath them both, by far.
© April 2011 Colonialist (Letterdash/WordPress)
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