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Serfs Up
From chamber pots
To chamber maids
To piss stained streets
Where peasants pace,
This impossible plight
Of the populous
To pound cobblestone
For a copious purpose,
Giving praise to a person
Who preaches in proportion
To know thy place
And be still in your desires,
I do applaud the plague
They’ve put in place,
The powerful king who
We all call "His Grace",
A grand affair we’ll
Throw for him
To show our much due
Admiration,
We’ll break out the
Guillotine to sever
His reign and
He’ll receive
One last roaring
Ovation
