You’d cause a priest to join the deceased
And easily make a nun swear
Every time you walk into a room
People wish that you weren’t there

The knack you have for malevolence
Is honed to a fine art
You hang around even when you're gone
Just like a well timed fart

As you approach they shout cockroach
Your battledress births disgust
Dismay and hatred boil from within
It’s you they never trust

A curse among good people
Misery is your mirth.
Our quill flows, the sentence made
A testament that has no worth

You take food from all innocent
Laugh as children starve
We all know the evil you represent
Into our souls you carve

We dare not travel anywhere
Your pestilence is pure plague
No matter how hard we stare
Your full work is at best vague

Here comes the revolution
Brothers and sisters unite
End all persecution
So all you traffic wardens away and shite!

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Commenting On: Feed the Meter - Evidently Spencertown

ie London, England

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