I'm Pleading: Jot A Comment

Where's your slur? There's no slur on my lampoon.
Where'd it go? Where?! Oh... oh.

Are you artists creating Emin-imitating lyrics?
I am, I've been detested by menstruating critics.
Tickin' high declines every time. Thick imbeciles!
Clickin' no 5s, then just frickin' off without no advice,
To turn my notions to potions that make high quotients in votin'.
Members tearin' my parod-ies won't you scoff so I'm knowin'
Why you aint loving my poems. I can't tell what you are thinkin',
You're clickin' 1s without blinkin' an' leavin' me in a stink an'
Sinkin' every day and hour and minute tickin' around.
You all belittle me... but don't scribble ridicule down.
Kid tell me how, I'm meant embellish on my prow-ess,
If you're gunna score me down without a reason, you cow!

Why cause a drama? By never showing virt-ue.
Endeavour, for Pete's sake, to type.
I won't bite! I'm pleadin': jot a comment.
I said try curried llama, an aliment and purge fo-od.
It helps with (verbal) diarrhoea,
So you'll write. I'm pleadin': jot a comment.

I got some militants leaving comments and I want no 'if', 'woah' and 'oh, but's.
So adore my jokes or prescribe help often. Disclose it, don't just oppose wit.
You fake a pat whenever you see a poor 'Guy' satire that is faulty, crap and smells of P.C.
You are so lazy, easy fives for lustre: bubbly songs.
What haggard druggo went and made a shanty over a bong? Complete twit.
I blunder in my thievingness of good vibes.
But can't gloat when dickheads pop unjust 1s and dish no advice.
It drives me crazy. And my modern mixtures peeve me: no 5s.
Grievin' as I wait for whim- oh, but no heavin' of comments.
Take a shot! You dim? Atleast deflate me mate. I know I made some mistakes.
But I moan, assumin' you're standard bluffing, racing away.
Jot a quip you poophead. Not proud of a 1,
But I'd rather get just zip with helpful notes than 5s without none.
Don't act like children, just write some flak or complements, oaf.
It's my right, I like to help you all. Don't be insolent, yo.

I hurried karma. I left a message for y-ou.
So tether up you yang, my child.
Yin? Invite. I'm pleadin': jot a comment.
I said I worry somewhat. Forever getting sub-2.
Some leverage in your own insight?
Don't be tight. I'm pleadin': jot a comment.

Cow hide and leather? This isn't either, I mock your complexion.
Cake effects your decision for you to list remarks and reasons?
Put 'Luke Yourself' into your vision. I'll try and embiggen this.
It's an awkward one for singing, context isn't conditioned.
Switch to the fun one 'Impotent Guy', I near burst when I listen.
No-one who's down in Sydney's questioning who sung out this ditty.
My whole strife rises straight from the real vile clause 'Coon in the Gutter'.
It made you frown, cows voted down, yet took off quickly. No comment! Whassat?
Come back, oh please berate un-P.C. propaganda.
Won't you woodenly justify the way you voted, Zander?
I guess not, you're all older cows who are bald. I'm Brattoni!
Your blatant flow of 'naught' and 'zip' for comments shows you're baloney.
When gaily clicking that 1... Ow! You should pee off, it's pitiful.
You're not clever being a voter, rather please be critical.
See, what irks me the most is I can't do shit to my song.
Snitch to me, mong! Reveal to me what's so flippin' wrong!
Cuz I share all typed mistakes, trying to help those I visit.
No elfish snitch, my notes and others' turn your head to a glitch.
December's 'Think Pee's In Strife' has the revelled shrift on girl's pee.
I just thought, I am glad. Can't you satirise me?

McFlurry Farmer. What revelance was that, Lu-ke?
You not content with wasted time?
Well, then, fight! I'm pleadin': jot a comment.
I said furry pyjamas. They're what I wear as I sp-oof.
Please better my mistakes. Take flight,
AmIRight, after leavin' a comment!