When a druggie, bedraggled and broke,
Or a down and out common old soak,
Overdoses and dies
Not a soul even cries;
Should an actor – then he’s a great bloke.
I hear there’s talk of legalizing weed,
For of sedation many have a need,
But I suppose it’s just another sign
Of Western lands in terminal decline.
I guess it helps if you don’t care a lot;
To numb your brain – to dull the stench of rot,
From all that has decayed and gone to pot.
Whilst some seek neither wealth nor fame,
Not all do-gooders are the same,
For there are those who seek a cause,
Like ending poverty or wars.
Such causes are believable,
But never quite achievable,
For they must last for years and years;
Support and nourish long careers.
It strikes me as a clever racket,
And since I’d like to make a packet,
I’ve had some thoughts to join this band,
To get my share of the fat of the land,
And to rid my country of a curse:
That of cynical bards who write cynical verse.
I will make it my life’s work, these fiends to expose,
With their bad rhyming ditties and poetic prose;
Their libelous hinting at graft and corruption
That threatens good entrepreneurs with disruption.
These poets we’ll lock up and reeducate;
They’ll stop poking fun at the good and the great,
And I will be famous with everyone saying
I’m such a good man, as these poets I’m flaying.
I’ll appear on TV, state my case, take a bow;
I’ll soon be an icon, a real sacred cow.
My organization will campaign for money,
With adverts as sweet and as sickly as honey.
I expect that the money will come flooding in,
For everyone donates to those without sin.