To The Scum

To the scum, what makes you run?
What make you tick; and stick with it?
Do you not yet grow sick of all the bullshit?
We beat you down, you take it without a sound,
For all you want is that FAKE ass Pound!


So rise you scum; be someone,
Cleanse your name of the foul slime,
Which coats you all in your prime,
You shalt now boldly shine.
So now there is no scum and we're yet done!


Now you scum bear the one,
The prophet of the greatest fable; the writer of the moon and sun,
The one who will save us from the rising son.
Fear no-one; my darling scum,
Or else they'll begin to shoot their gun!


Never let your mind believe it,
Tell them that that they can rightly keep it!
Never bleat; like foolish sheep,
For they'll ring your neck upon a pun,
Just you believe it, like the fly who see's it!