Callous ruler is he who beholds my wretchedness with a bliss
He swivels smoothly seeing me shrivel in scorch
See him laugh but boot not, his chair mounted on arris
I stretch my arm for his lift but he leaves me in the lurch
Knows he my minor call to him's a piece of piss
But isn't he carefree? Can't solve! Can't touch!
He lies in clover-splurge on comfort daily without a miss
His thought's to his life and paunch
But to my bawl for care he'll dis'
And libel me as the worst grouch
O tell me to whom this throne is.
Will I live to plead, or snatch?
Or accept your jobbery in a daily basis?
Tell me when in your rule will we match?
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