They are inadequate and insecure
Those poor lot who never got it right
Minds befuddled, no grace nor talent for sure
Want love but it's never real and day is always night
Superficialities and pretence is all there are on their shore

So these sad lots find pleasure in destroying things
Body full of drugs n sorrow, something's' always  wrong
Negativity their wont, misery and menace in their everything
All that is good is tarnished, strength and confidence are wrong
Their happiness eclipsed, mind diseased, knowing stained loving

See that precious diamond glittering sharply bright
No say our lots, that just a piece of old hard stone dug up
See that lovely rose in pristine bloom in lovely summer light
No that's just an ordinary dead flower with thorns in a big cup
Sick downers whose glass always half empty with sour snakebite

They own ignorance and bitterness in droves
Always envious and jealous the inherent bent of the warped
Intimidated by excellence, mired in dishonour like putrid cloves
These nonentities crave attention in ignominy like neurotic wasps
In enlightened riposte - class is permanent and crying is not for doves