I’m hardy like Job,
My patience you can’t be trying.
My mien is stony;
There’s no joking with me, oh no!

I’m hardy—won’t cry
Even when a churl is gaffing
Me like a fresh-caught bream—
Go ahead and poke me.

I look at the sky
Rather than off the handle fly.
When biting me in bed
The bugs aren’t dead,
Though much I have bled.

Well, my spine is aligned
When some smart-ass churl is shivving
Me like a fresh-caught bream—
I ask, “Don’t open me.”

I cook and I fry
Dumbly, my hands, temperature high;
Not a tear I shed,
Not much I’ve bled,
And soon I’ll have fed.

Well, my spine is aligned
When some smart-ass churl is giving
Me a “Watchtower” paean.
Patience broke. . .felony.