Gatecrashers Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

So what do you say of the wankers who spit
poisons and venom and foul-smelling shit?
Reason may ask you to leave them behind
find better pastures to think and unwind.

Surely they will, if conditions permit
follow, to lust for the enemy's tit.
Gate-crashing loudly, empty of skull
grinning now proudly. Reasons to cull.

All the king's horses, all the king's men
sit under shade trees, watching Big Ben.
Dodge City Justice. Do not ask why.
'Let's', says Augustus, 'hang the freaks high'.