Roll over a rock,
And what will you find;
Someone not
In a rational mind.

Where do we find them,
These  sad sacks;
Standing with placards
In the pumpkin patch.

Holding up fists,
Ready to fight;
A left jab will settle
The flails from the right.

They hang around schools,
Ogling their chances;
Using bibles as tools
For sexing defences.

They call themselves patriots,
Heroes and martyrs;
They're blowing hot air;
They're political farters.