The Art of the Irish IV

There once was a man with a sweater,
In wintertime thought it was better
But eventully June
His sweater did ruin
And now smells like a chronic bed wetter.

The kid was the top of his class,
But some students thought him an ass.
They put glue on his chair
Before he got there
Getting up he ripped open his pants.

I once got attacked by a pup
Whose body fit in a tea cup.
He bit through my jeans
While I stifled a scream
The little mutt wouldn’t give up.

The rain falls out of the sky
But my only question is why
Does it land on my head
When there’s grass laying dead
That needs it so much more than I.

My wallet is being deprived
Of money for feeling alive.
What happened to nights
Drinking up til the lights
Came on and they kicked us outside?

Get out of my face Mister Man,
I’ve told you as much as I can.
I won’t be a rat
Like a Democrat
And sell out while getting a tan.

Don’t tell me it’s none of my business
For they call on one God as their witness,
The men of Tea Party
Control women’s bodies
Didn’t you already know this?

Our President strikes with a drone
By simply just dialing a phone.
He says it’s his right
To murder on sight
And leave a corpse after the tone.

The once was a man called the Pope
Who thought he should broaden his scope.
He launched the Crusades
Gave blessing to blades,
To pillage and rape without soap.

I sometimes come off as a cynic,
But all I intend is to mimic
The craziness hidden
By power that’s given
To leaders both preachy and civic.

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