John is what hookers call Their customers in this land. They make him feel like a king And tell him he is grand. They fuss over him like royalty As long as he pays the bills. His habits can make stomachs turn. He’d be dead, if looks could ****.
King John, the biggest ****** To have ever worn the crown If he were an office building He would quickly be torn down. Nobody ever thinks of him In any pleasant kind of way. If he has a need he needs filled No freebies, he has to pay.
If there is some slimy way To speak a simple sentence He will choose it, and insult With no thought of repentance. He owes his wealth to ***** tricks And that is just what he is. An absolute and total waste Of his awful father’s ****.
King John sits on his throne Gathers soulless souls around. He laughs at those who take his bribes; A particularly ugly sound. He has no conscience, so doesn’t see How quickly his presence can pall. He is the king of a kind of hell; No kind of royalty at all.