“The voice of the people” can’t leave too soon.
The fun was almost all he could endure,
Especially making game of the poor,
Though he didn’t like being called a goon.
Oh, how he’d made the great all look the same,
Throwing merda on every “leader’s” name.
They laughed at his japes without knowing why,
And threw gold at his head with insane glee.
He’d peeked up their wives’ dresses for a fee.
He’d danced on toes defying all to cry.
The best was the gun he pulled from his hump
(Not a deformity — a holster’s bump),
And waved around the world with bulging eyes.
“See this?” he crooned, “No one who likes me dies.”
