So our zealots of Papa Red Tonton Macoutes
inebriated on fish and chips
and enraged by their limp under-done tiddlers
wink wink tiddly-wink
decides as tonton marcoutes do to mount
their campaigns of terror

In ragging flaccid fervours the said they were
going to chip chip chip away
thirty years down the line the dunces are still
chip chip chipping way
God knows it must cost them a pricey fortune
replacing their blunts tools

Then our bands of lame possessed declared
it wearing out time
we will haunt harass and torment to worn out
commence whimsicality dopes
thirty years  of nonsensicality and fetid idiocies
they are still huffing and puffing

As the inherent clowns spit in the winds they said
ah, its psychic war-fare
and so began daft shadow-boxing with each other
hey! its remote attack don't you know
we sending signals and messing up mind and head
yeah! as simpletons do

So its ***** tonk jiving jazz and swinging hip-hop
mish mash loonies in self abuse
wanking in plain sight and parading their Emperor's
new coat while pinning the tail
and all they've done is now shown the bemused public
they are shamed and feel threatened by one man