Phony Bologna

Nothing lights my fire

like false accusations,

wood for the pyre

to burn this witch with justification.

But I don’t weigh the same as a duck

not made of wood, instead flesh and blood.

I do not give one single, cold-hearted fuck

if the dam you broke creates a flood.

I’ll swim underwater and float on my back

before you reap a solitary tear

with your baseless attack.

Watch out, the fuse is lit,

the kindling stoked,

before you work yourself into a snit

your ego stroked,

Make sure you see the structure right:

That bottom stick is dynamite.