He spits when he talks, calls all the shots,
He's a despicable mean man.
I laugh on his face, a surface,
Which I've suffered all I can.
But what can you do, this side of the world,
Has an oversupply of overreaching assholes.
These are the leaders, these are not heeders,
To sermons of peace or of placid souls.
On the contrary, they fight in a fury,
No hurdle is a problem for them.
They kill or maim, at point zero or aim,
Always a fucking zero sum game.
He says his shit is pink, that it doesn't stink,
Even comes in various scented shapes.
He said he'd be the second coming,
Of Jiminy without any brakes.
I wipe his spit, I trash his shit,
No point in raising any points.
He's got a temper bad, when he gets mad,
He'll crush all my brittle joints.
