All of you bozos and lameos   who commence to poach:   Don't think the sane majority   won't continue to coach.      You're all a dime a dozen.   and not in the Darrell way.   You connivingly cozen   and you act totally gay.      Maraud.   Your efforts all amount   to fraud.   The true metalheads won't   applaud.      The more of you that swindle.   The less of us that dwindle.   True musicians don't filch.   You lot will reach to zilch.      Loot, like you don't give a hoot.   Hoot, when you see a babe's fruit.   Loot, as if my point is moot.   Toot, so a guy knows he's beaut.      You trendy scene guys love to flash a pose   so all the trendy scene gals suck your hose.      Purloin   so you can score enough   viagra and vagina for   your groin.   Even then you hunger for more   penis and pussy so you   rummage   so you can bag enough   cocks and clits for your   bummage.      It agitates me, seeing all you posers pinch   without a flinch.   It aggravates me, thinking you do all this to   make us unhinge.   It irritates me, knowing that I could end you   with a lynch.      Rustle   then there can be even   more dickies and titties for you to   hustle   although with that said, you will   get into a chaotic and cathartic   tussle   with all the metalheads that   form quite a collective and destructive   muscle.      The underlying aspect of homage   should not be so confused with image.   The never-ending mileage to gain coolage   is like a pillage in a village.   One shouldn't strive for the privilege   to obtain another's rightful lineage.