Conor Young

Rookie (02/06/93 / London)

Sutton - Poem by Conor Young

The ignorance of Sutton!
Her people with minds as small as buttons.
Born in Sutton?
You’ll die there too;
It’s for the best,
The rest of us don’t need you!

Generations follow generations
Ten meters is the distance they go from their positions
In Sutton:
The Sun is a work of fine literature,
And the Daily (Hate) Mail;
Its public voice.

Ask a son of Sutton:
Where is New York City?
They’ll firmly answer “Leeds”
We must act.
We need to bring every child of Sutton to the Pire;
Because all they make us feel is ire!

So next time you drive through the London subs
Heed my warning:
Go not by Sutton
Anywhere but Slutton!
Unless, that’s what you want?
To die every second of every day.

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Poem Submitted: Monday, August 16, 2010



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