Tumour

he's not a fucking human
he's a fucking running wound
there’s an ugly kind of odour
when he slides into a room
the earth has stunk like thatchers cunt
since he slithered from the womb
I just want to see him slither slowly to his doom
and i’ll stand at the graveside
and i’ll wank into his tomb

cos he’s not a fucking human
he’s a tumour with a head
if his wife was a philanthropist
she’d chain him to the bed
she’s been searching for his dick
since the day that they got wed
but he’s fed it to the orphans
that he’s got locked in his shed
his children don’t get spends
they get syphillis instead...

cos he’s not a fucking human
he’s a bloody amputation
he’s an insult to darwin
and a fuck you to creation
on the day of his demise
there’ll be scenes of jubulation
extra meat for tea
on very table in the nation
(except for vegetarians
they’ll have extra vegetation)

cos if people were all equal
he’d still claim the biggest portion
he’s not a fucking human
he’s a walking abortion