A Cross Tic
Froth upon your lips: your banter,
Usually a bagatelle,
Charmless – it’s a childish rant, a
Kiddie tantrum, nasty smell.
Oh your words are thick as swill:
Filled with idle nonsense, showy,
Filled with taunts, a parrot trilling,
Yakking, useless. Time to go.
Oh you’re thick, your speech hysteric, a
Uniformly tasteless stew:
Tongue out at the real America
Otiose and claptrap, hooey,
Selfish, never apropos
Specious like a brain-dead Bono:
Empty-hearted braggart. So
Rumble off, you mastodon!
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