Tis Merriment In Which I Bask,
When Taking Idiots To Task,
Yes, Those Bleached Blonde, Dumb, Dimwitted Fools,
While I Remain So Calm, So Cool.
‘Tis Easy, And Yet, Alas A Bore,
How Adeptly I Can Sweep The Floor,
With Willing Ragmops, Flimsy, Flailing,
In Intellectual Matters, Failing.
Things Of No Consequence They Term As War,
Or Turn To The Bottle, Frequent The Bar.
While We Intelligently Take The Lead,
I Wish The Dimwits, Peace, Godspeed