O Catullus

I cursed them all in rage and rhyme.
Each one, a sack of shit and slime
I wrote, when they did mock and sneer
at love, when it was so sincere.

I swore I'd fuck them up real good.
Bulldoze that bitchy brotherhood
of bastards, make those mothers pay
for sending love, I found, away.

For when love mailed a message home
and swore that she’d remain, not roam.
Those freaks bid her to fly like bird.
To build a nest with him's absurd,

they spat, he’ll not amount to much;
He doesn’t have the Midas touch.
So, with a poised and poisoned pen
I mocked those mother-fucking men.

O Catullus, you said it best,
about your foes you’d joke and jest.
You mocked them, old and hoary tools,
cock-sucking, crabby fucked up fools!