I.D.S.
I’ve got Irritable Duncan Syndrome,
that nasty little shit
takes pleasure from the harm he does
while getting paid for it.
He’s like Chucky’s dirty uncle,
with tiny nipping teeth,
biting monetary morsels
from those who have the least,
and every time the corporates
pass laws of gain and greed,
he laughs and pumps his evil fist,
sowing devil-sprouting seeds.
His claws, they grasp at benefits,
the Welfare State’s his wallet,
he steals from old and young alike
to line his greasy pockets,
he failed at everything he did,
got everything for free,
now paints the poor as lazy oiks,
spits on their hopes with glee,
so if the touch of I.D.S.
gives you anguish of the bowels,
flush him with the other turds,
and feed him to your flowers.
