by Nick Gisburne
The underclass, the dregs, the dirt, the scum,
Were never meant to prosper on the street,
But witness what these leeches have become,
Unable to accept their fate, defeat.
As patron of this residential club,
I write to offer something of a fix.
The tactics we are using - scorn and snub -
Are worthless. Let us fight with bigger sticks.
Annihilation. Vote for it. Agree.
A swift and vicious culling of the crowd.
For those too coy or cowardly to see,
A hundred more will stand together, proud.
Your privilege, too potent to deny,
Is precious. Let the rest, the robots, die.
