Stupid
Stupid people run towards
Jacob the SuperBright
Ignore his beaver, polished swords,
His tunic oh so tight
Stupid people bless His Nibs
His soft patrician drawl
Ignore his grandly-spoken fibs
His antiquated gall
Stupid people touch his hem
And worship at his shrine
They marvel at his every gem
His elongated spine
Jacob likes to turn his tongue
To every slight endeavour
But what emerges smells of dung
Perhaps he’s not so clever
Clever people run a mile
From Jacob’s each offence
They scent the bile beneath the style
It’s only common sense
Click here for a Guardian article
