I’m not running for office and neither are you.
And I know you don’t think this is Beverly Hills.
I don’t need my damned soul saved. It’s doing just fine.
You’re a fool if you think I don’t know the divine.
Most professional pests seem to get their cheap thrills
With their in-your-face tactics and hullabaloo.

My FICO score isn’t at mark of the beast
And that’s none of your business. Don’t patronize me
With your slick condescension. I hear very well
Hidden language that lurks where the sea plankton dwell.
Just because I exist you won’t charge me a fee.
Those who prey on the poor see their profits increased.

I don’t need my damned lawn mowed, dear neighbor of mine.
Your con game is as thick as the prick in the suit.
Keep your eyes off my yard and my yard off your mind.
Your kind gardening guidance is of your behind.
When to all I’m considered a tree bearing fruit
I’ll assume all are hostile rather than benign.