Me again. Here's a curse. To tell you the truth I have nothing against cyclists. How could I when the divine Boris cycles like anything? But for the sake of Art...
Road Rage
MALEDICO, late and early,
In the fiery furnace lobbing
Cultivation’s antipode:
Cyclists, scrofulous and surly,
Ring-a-dinging, bare knees bobbing,
In the latest yahoo mode,
Hurtling through the hurly-burly,
Crotches sweating, thighs a-throbbing,
Heedless of the Highway Code,
Yawping youth and gurning girly,
Slobbering yobbos, grunting, gobbing
Desecrators of the road.
Seize them by the short and curly,
Drown their shrieks and stanch their sobbing,
Terminate each little toad.
So my verse is. So my curse is.
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