The fat old fucks rot in their tacky mansions
Staring at numbers on a screen—
Their flimsy god of no protection.
One wrong move from an old pedo politician
And those precious digits will evaporate;
They’re closer to street beggars than they think.
They’ve built lonely, suspicious lives on fear
And the collection of meaningless shit—
Their selfishness has made them whiny and weak.
In the absence of true power, they throw fits
And threaten violence like stupid children—
They should all be smacked across the face.
This is the world they wanted:
A massive shit show of their own making,
A polluted, stinking heap to mark their pathetic existence.
When they soon pass from this mess—
And may they do so quickly—
The rest of us will dance in joy at their absence.
I, for one, can’t wait to destroy their legacy.