The chicken shits, that watched the show,
Of blaring trumpets, banners flying,
With bayonets slung low,
And all the others dying,
The chicken shits are as today,
No different are they in their truth
They rather look the other way,
Safely from their private booth,
The chicken shits, all party members most,
No matter, left or right, or middle,
Would to murder they are host,
Stand idly by and fiddle,
The chicken shits stand on the wall,
Defend their little land of thought,
To tell you this they have the gall,
Already wall and house been bought,
Not with weapons billions, gold,
But weapons of deceit,
Traitors in their ranks have sold,
The war you lost called greed,
Caches full of worthless doe,
Of weapons billion worth,
Paid by ordinary Joe,
Saddle, bags, and horse,
Chicken shits don’t rock their boat,
For fear, that they might drown,
But plenty other boats they rock.
Would theirs you rock, they’d frown,
Chicken shits, those wait too long,
Not can talk no more,
Their voice was weak, not strong,
Not bothered yelling fore,
Free speech is lost by chicken shits,
Fought for once, by real men,
What happens when the fan it hits,
Chicken shits, their feathered pen?©12/12/2010
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Regis
And there are far too many of them around these days.
John