With an iron fist in mitten,
And a firm resolve in glove:
I address my rude ambition,
To the Moron I hold above
All the other better angels,
Of whom I know not of:
Yet you remain unsmitten,
By my money and my love!
S-ck it up! S-ck it up!
Let the commons so erupt.
S-ck it up! S-ck it up!
They can starve if they say nope.
If you had, but the wit of Omni,
Your organ so to toot,
You'd swill your gruel and hominy,
Of buck-eyed craw and newt.
Or do you itch to queer the pitch,
On the town house stage and forum;
With the stitched-up twitch of Gingrich,
Or a switch to a kitsch Santoram?
S-ck it up! S-ck it up!
Zoom in on my closeup.
You've never seen a candidate,
So stiff and so abrupt.
S-ck it up! S-ck it up!
Don't clap or interrupt.
S-ck it up! S-ck it up!
When I say I'm not corrupt!
S-ck it up! S-ck it up!
As it trickles from my cup.
S-ck it up! S-ck it up!
Lick your lips and just say yup!
S-ck it up! S-ck it up!
Be my poodle and my pup.
S-ck it up! S-ck it up!
On my vomit, you can sup!
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem