The ominous voices of the vexed vendors echo: oh, big bulgy man,
one foolish day, you’ll face the full fury of the famished in person.
You fool, fly and flaunt in filched firmaments of fortune and fame
in a foamy, clumsy and flimsy fashion without a modicum of shame.
Mr. Famine, why do you deceive yourself and think that forged wealth
doesn’t stink in cursed cases? A pitiful purveyor of poverty. Not healthy!
The incensed youth join in: cruel crook, you cook hunger that’s draining.
A nauseating seed shoots. We call out greed. Brutal bug that’s ruining!
You and your head, penalty kicks, miskicks and bids have been nothing
else but a series of scams, humps and hemorrhages. Are we something?
