See, baby, the reason why you’re so terrible,
is easily because you honestly are,
and it ain’t something new for you lately either,
it’s a downright habit of your vain stupidity.
Right, the unfamiliar is what you should have started here,
but of course you’re horrible at writing,
even though you ought to be pretty familiar with it by now,
yet that once again only gets in the way of your idiocy.
Feels highly superior jabbering from lack of experience,
warming air leaving above the skull cavity,
high on bravado ever since you stumbled in that treasure,
now you want another try to deceive many more.
Nah, a fool begins badly and that same said fool keeps plugging on,
chugging mightily from your hilarious dribble glass,
determined to hop through any loopy line you could brashly arrange,
never to realize the cruel game you had inspired it to play.
Hey, it’s really painful how dumb you are and lucky without knowing it,
containing zero purpose in that relaxed gibberish,
set boiling for unprotected handling whenever there’s practically no liquid,
while you’re at the checkered table wolfing down eggs and sausage.
You carry those still very much smarting open wounds of ignorant upheaval,
proudly worn also over your borrowed dinner jacket,
as that cocky camera takes in all sights for you against your own faulty recall,
just don’t dare looking at them photos when you’re gonna be crestfallen.
Sharwrong's Song 