Thee, I compare to a literal witch,
In more modern terms I should call you a-
Person whom I love for your stinging wit.
Intolerable you are, they may say,
Insults with which you make my day, so quick;
As long as they’re not directed MY way.
Beauty, not face, but sarcasm thick,
Not liked, but easy it is that you lay,
Yourself, you are, lest you’re called a *****,
My outspoken love remember, I say
In twenty years you’ll be getting YOUR kicks,
Boys will be boys, and hell they may pay.
Idiots they are and so they shall stay,
Catch wind of your wrath, to god they should pray.