So I want to write a short poem,
dedicated to yours truly.
So you know what I think of you,
I dislike you from the top to the bottom,
in other words I despise you fully.
Why, is not an option,
since we both know you're a b.i.t.c.h.
When I started hating you,
was when you realized you were full of s.h.i.t.
How I want to get rid of you,
is up to God to decide.
Where I want to hide your body,
well I'll show it off,
who wants to hide?
When you walk up through the crowd,
I wonder how you keep it together.
Your made of skin and bones,
I'm suprised you haven't been blown away by bad weather.
You're head is full of lice and c.r.a.p,
you make me want to vomit.
I'm sorry if this poem is not funny,
it's basically because she's not worth it.
She's not worth writing a poem about,
and definetly not looking at.
If you ever saw a girl like her,
you'd probably need therapy to get back.
Get back to normal,
well I'm not sure.
For a girl like her,
There is no cure.
Because she is a disease that has no drug,
so it's easier to just get rid of the slug.
When I see her face,
I can't help but want to slap her.
I hate what's-her-name,
she's that attention grabber.
You know that one who thinks it all about her?
Yeah she's that one,
and each day she gets madder.
And the day she's realizes what she's made of,
I'll be happier.
She's made of s.h.i.t.
Completely, fully, unfortunaetly,
Hundred percent pure.
