Yeah, fresh cheer from yours,
quickly moving out of prison,
later burning Aaron to ash,
for somebody’s sins,
ha, I get their rough joke now,
but does anyone else also?
Ugh, I’ve had a hideous bellyful,
of this served over three days,
since we’re leading fishing expeditions,
guessing under a half-baked mind,
to scrawl an unspecified line,
since you can’t read and write.
Hey, let’s set this sick tar boy to fly,
better conceive your nasty wings,
long before hitting our bottom,
driveling a chant all the way down,
except we got on high authority,
your vain trash ain’t being heeded.
So, if it feels good stuck in trees,
preceding a bitter standing ovation,
after bringing weak families together,
creating a clashing reach in both camps,
arranged to last a few more decades,
yet its loser enjoys the final laugh.
Sharwrong's Song 