Something is quite wrong of late
And I do find myself quite irrate
Listen to the words that I do state
Don't take me too seriously

Though to most I am a stranger
Bad thoughts of me seem to linger
And if I could control my anger
I know I'd destroy you with it

But wait, I jest
Please don't protest
Even though I spew harsh words I must profess
That I'm actually quite easy going

And even though I seem quite rude
My saving grace is that I'm crude
You probably think me quite the prude
But I didn't say that I wasn't

Pretentious though I may be
I could care less what you think of me
And at the end of the day one might see
This bird I will be flying

Serious as you make it
I'll leave it for you to take it
Love it or foraske it
Please don't take much of anything too seriously

It leads to all sorts of bad things: Wrinkles, grey hair, premature
balding, lovehandles, campaign slogans and other swearwords, heartburn,
and otherwise sharp and pointy implements of destruction.

Penned by my hand on the 10th of Ferinus, in the year 435 AD.