My bengali piss will do shit,
But the rules I let the flow flout.
As the piss hits the dust, it must,
Do a "game changer" on the cloggy clout.
Or not, but the day is hot,
I a pissing bengali man stand corrupt.
I am poor, I am jealous, and depraved,
And trust me, morally bankrupt.
As is usual with untalented fools, I drool,
Droopy my eyes like a sage.
Hunched back race, a grimaced face,
Character stitched from inveterate rage.
My skin color is inferior, ironically it has more,
Of what the superior skin has less.
I am diabetic, consumptive, full of shit,
I have a typical proud bengali face.
I have no ambition, but my thoughts are big,
I'm horny and disteessfully diseased.
I don't really know where I'm going,
Direction is treasonous to my creed.
I voted for "red", "sapling", or "flower",
They all fucked my ass to a "win-win" gape.
My asshole is now so fucking huge,
You can't seal it with an ordinary tape.
Rice pullers and crypto, honesty on tiptoe,
You get scammed just existing in bengal.
Jobless engineers huddle in call centers,
To scam naive americans who call.
Dry sandy cunts, deceased, diseased dicks,
Rule by rhetoric, theft and con.
They talk about the good old days,
But holy shit, those days are gone.
For treason fucks dragged to prison,
Ought to be the justice of the lands.
India, a democracy in name only,
Kleptocracy as it stands.
The "next level" pus from my anus,
Thus dribble animus ad-infinitum.
I swear the smell is bad enough,
Full of worms unwholesome itchy rectum.
My turds are heavy with worry,
I have nightmares within nightmares.
On heaven and earth corruption is rife,
Bullshit on busy thoroughfares.
A flaccid cock on a disenchanted rock,
Not even a rounded bengali miss.
I can't imagine someone will eat a fish,
Soaked with these miseries in my piss.
Philosophy used to be my fantasy forte,
But my recollection is no longer good.
These days the treatment I get is bad,
As is the quality of prepared food.
People really hate my old fashioned balls,
They want to throw me in the fire.
The country and state are sold to crooks,
The condition of the Indian is filthy dire.
So I piss, I piss and think, about the stink,
About how everything changed.
How rotten things have gotten inside,
But shiny on the surface as arranged.
Bengali thoughts led the world,
Now it lags behind the slowest laggards.
It's not even safe to open your mouth,
Truth is shit that's sorta hard.
From british clerk to an all-round jerk,
The bengalis are convinced they're best.
In the least exertions, they queue up for,
An afternoon of complete rest.
Belligerent cunts and bickering grunts,
Makes throats go hoarse and dry.
The practice prepares us for pulpit and stage.
It also helps that we enjoy a lie.
Land of poets, now of dacoits,
Even rabindranath's nobel was stolen.
People entertained by bickering soaps,
Anger expressed in quick semen.
Bose counted photons, now there are tons,
Of turds strewn around, we call "us".
The bengali superiority is a myth of sorts,
A festering inbreeding pus.
Raja Ram Mohan Roy would have thrown up,
If he came back to the polluted today.
He'd find a sky brown like people's poop,
There's not much for him to say.
Constipated and hot, we shit a lot,
The holy rivers a witness to the feat.
The people and poop go to the afterlife,
Passengers sharing a "make in india" seat.
Oversupply of invisible gods at the helm,
Or their mustachioed pollitical goons.
The people maybe educated to a degree,
But act like demented cartoons.
Like a herd of sheep the idiots heed,
To the strident voice with acrimonious shrill.
They bend over and present their ass,
Are presented with the fucked-forever pill.
They join the ranks, full of shit and thanks,
For the empty promises that are made.
Bleeding from their ass they limp,
The true bengalis are all dead.
*game-changer, win-win, next-level and various other loser compound word pairs have slipped into the fledgling Indian vocabulary, making it sound even more fucked up than it needs to be.
