With bitter tongue and acrid heart
He throws his words like poison darts
Shooting straight in to the choir
A lacklustre mind which thinks itself on fire
Who doth with his venom his true colours impart

But I fight back, when his bricks fall
He likes the tallest tree to fell
I throw each brick back twice as well
To knock him dead because he gave me hell

His pretentiousness the mind appals
Yet his prattle and parlance has the fools in thrall
But I see through his pathetic game
People like him are all the same
Yet think they are above the one and all