The first Swaithe he was rather thin,
A facist vegetarian,
He took the people from their towers,
And murdered them all in the showers,
He has no cigars nor hats nor yids,
He has forgotten all our kids.
The second Swaithe he was full of spirit,
He got things done, in all his merit,
He wouldn't let people critise,
He'd turn them into food for flies,
He has no peace nor time nor trams,
He has forgotten all our lambs.
The third Swaithe he was all the rage,
He put the people in a cage,
He drove a car through downtown Dallas,
And ended up in Zeus's palace,
He has no hearts nor spades nor clubs,
He has forgotten all our cubs.
The fourth Swaithe he was fat of face,
He lost a very different race,
He couldn't keep a hold of tapes,
He made himself a Jackanapes,
He has no blood nor pride nor mates,
He's forgotten all our neonates.
The fifth Swaithe she was full of malice,
Her actions were a poisoned chalice,
She closed the places we could work,
She left the men out of the murk,
She has not brave nor kind nor couth,
She has forgotten all our youth.
The sixth Swaithe he was rather brash,
He didn't have a lot of class,
He took the money to the edge,
He delivered less than he could pledge,
He has not hair nor teeth nor skin,
He has forgotten all our kin.
The seventh Swaithe he was fair of face,
And fairly intolerant of race,
He brokered deals with which to lead,
With players of a different seed,
He has no brain nor eyes nor tongue,
He has forgotten all our young.
The Swaithes colluded to butcher our futures,
All alike and all of us sutured,
They took control without response
A likely lonely renaissance,
We have no face nor heel nor repose,
We'll feed and become adipose.
No comments:
Post a Comment