From father to son, a critically caustic tongue
not political, he puts on no face
what furrows the brow sunup to sundown
this unrighteous pachydermal race.
Row follows row, claiming none are in tow
burlesquing their plebeian plight
act and react to fiction or fact
rich/poor, black/white, day and night.
A world weaning somewhere between
lacklustre living and lolling along
“Think for yourselves!” don’t ring any bells
just the maxim of – “Don’t tell me I’m wrong!”
The point I suppose (to lead by the nose)
which fits nicely with their motif
most of the planet, with brains made of granite
plays poker daily with their beliefs.