Aholes full of gaffes, numbnuts clowns bring ’bout deceases.
Idiots half-assed, and the body count increases.
Tracing here’s done long and slow. When will they get it right?
Tracing’s bungled.

Dimwits in his lair, telling claques: Cluster together.
And while you’re at it share contact, now there’s sunny weather.
Tracing here’s wrong or no. When will they get it right?
Tracing is flubbed—not much in sight.

You could waste time, saying a prayer;
you’ll still depart if you listen to the preyer.
Beware!!

Tracing’s a joke, not done right; bluffed bullsh*t from that guy.
’nuff tracing ain’t here…one more lie.