Not the first, nor the second, not even the third, nor the last-
you are further back in line- your turn is often past-
no leg to stand on, no claim to plea in town-
the people far outnumber you, and the people hold you down-
so the world can sedate you, dress you like a clown-
the hecklers heckle, the jesters jeckle-
they point out every flaw-
and count every freckle-
red headed step child, collage of human wastes-
foul smelling humans, grovel in distaste-