May your organic bread be stale
And may your hempen trousers split
And may the bike seat where you sit
Leave bruises on your traveller’s tail.
May snarling dogs attack your feet
And narrow squeaks inflict your route.
May lorries follow in pursuit,
May parking cars block every street.
May your way home be strewn with rice
And lentils, may your bike collapse,
May oil and water cause mishaps,
Because you are so bloody nice!
I curse you for your priggish stand,
Your implications that my car,
Is driven by a bad bourgeois.
May all you cycling saints be damned.
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