Nothing Bought With Eurocheques, I Imagine
Why can't the wicked inherit the Earth?
Though not meek, that does not block benefaction,
Especially if they've been to prison and undergone corrective action.
Their unfair exclusion leads only to mirth
Plum pud they say is stuff for the guts
It moves through you, ever accelerating toward impact
Although that is a proposition that has yet to be proved in fact
Proof is a symphony, I am a klutz
Why can't a little peace be afforded
perhaps it is that war is king
Over each and every thing
The isolation boat will soon be boarded
And into thraldom shall pass the slender years
Domesticated pig specially washed
so that you or I may eat our fill
And, after dining, wash our filthy ears
Time to dredge the ear canal, give passage to the sound
Of the vilest Britney fake, no whit worse than her herself
Which fills our ears with senseless pap while searching for the shelf
With which we can dash out her brains and leave them on the ground.
Why can't a woman be more like a man?
Though still pretty to give satisfaction
With tiny spikes on hand and foot to offer better traction
The unfair sex should develop a plan
Oh, why can't the wicked inherit Britney?
then contract her to write a litany.
Full of mucus and phlgem, it would make number one
In Denmark.
Contributors: | fester, Apsley, Anon., Nigel Sly, dan, Beefy, Grayman, Englishqueen, EQ. |
Poem finished: | 12th April 2002. |