|
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA
So you’re ill.
Take a pill!
Want my attention?
Not with anal retention.
Whine, whine and whine
No reason no rhyme.
What you expect?
You wont get respect.
Too much you eat
Do you ever cheat!
Slurp up resources
Expect hostile recourses
Selfish, self-indulgence
Comes on repugnance.
Now you are Empire
Then burn on your pyre.
Your m.o. is violence
God’s response: silence.
So you’re ill.
Take a pill!
|