He's pretty tight to shoot the works
Making friends with hookers and jerks
Fighting his way to the top of the heap
We're sick and tired of his ego trip
Living off on ripping everybody off
Taking his time to smell the stuff
Crazy in the head, thinking it's all right
We cannot trust him, he's fly-by-night
A real useful leader for square apples
Losing, yet not breaking off the battles
He's so gutless that we smell his fear
Pretending to be brilliant, he's small beer
Can he stop bragging, throwing his weight around?
Better stay taciturn, emitting no sound
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I would like to translate this poem