I pity the poor parasite
Whose mission the authors all know
Who bruises all the jokers like a weevil
But with no friends is always left full of woe
That man whose flippant finger leaps
And who chides at ev’ry jest
Who bashionately grates with gripes
A lifeless, cheerless pest

I pity the poor parasite
Whose stench is dense as mange
Who heckles wits on amIright
Whose peers are quite strange
Whose screen I.D. is classified
Who jeers at all he reads
Who galls with one's and selfish stealth
A churlish, whacked out dweeb

I pity the poor parasite
Who babbles foolish crud
Who spills it out with trashing
And who stills the clowns with clubs
Whose mission's grim to comprehend
Just batter, spike and slash
I pity the poor parasite
When, at last, there's none to bash