Bye, bye, oh my, to freaks like fry
I may be gone tomorrow,
I hear the great communal sigh
which signifies such sorrow,
but I don't like
those filthy swine
who snort around the streets
I will retreat, drink good red wine
sleep in on silken sheets
who needs the shit that Berrie poops
or that of Bobschen Bligh
they may succumb in their own soups
but I do say Good-Bye.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hello Herbert, to say a certain group don't like your poetry - I see they've all been swooping in like vultures to read it and vote - but as I said to a certain person who always voted 1 for me, despite professing to not read my poetry - IT WORKS BOTH WAYS! A ten from me as always.