Friggin' Stress Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

It was, no doubt, beyond sweet reason.
And what the flaming hell did you contrive
in this, your bloody little world of fucking treason
where shitheads and the like are kept alive.
You think that pleasant words will make things flow
that pre-conceived ideas do rule the roost,
it ain't conceivable that anything will grow
without the shit for brains whose presence is a boost.
So let me state it here again and with the thought
that not a single soul would take the slightest chance,
and that the soldiers and the followers who fought
will be the last ones who will turn up at the dance.