Oh, how they strut and preen, these haughty lords,
With bloated egos and ill-gotten hoards,
They prance and preen upon their grand estates,
As if their power is all that ever creates.

They look upon the common man with scorn,
Their pride and privilege ever newly born,
Forsooth, they think their station grants them right,
To cheat, to lie, to steal, with all their might.

Their words are honeyed, but their hearts are black,
They'll say most anything to keep on track,
And when they're caught, their lies all fall apart,
But still they hold their heads up, oh so smart.

And so we laugh and mock these foolish men,
Their arrogance, their vanity, their sin,
For they will come to nothing in the end,
And we shall all rejoice as justice stands.


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