Gene, genes show how we’re bred;
They’re sequenced, as we’ve seen.
If your brow is so low
That it touches your toe,
Means you’ve Neanderthal genes.

Genes, genes, if you’re sporting five. . .
Each hand. . .could be Chimpanzee ’n’
If flung is the fill of your colon when spilled—
Cause for alarm. . .monkey genes.

Mill with sheep in the meadow? Like a donkey bray?
Mill with barkers in pound, have fleas, scrounge for a bone?
Are you hungrily slinking in garbage, sating?

Your genes, genes show how you’re bred;
They’re sequenced, as we’ve seen.
If the chill doesn’t faze you on moon-freezing days
And you are still warm—polar genes.

(Genes, genes)
If dung’s how you thrive,
It’s scary—scarab you seem.
If you shill for Hill* or for shops of that ilk,
You have smarmy charm. . .flunky genes.

Genes.


*Hill & Knowlton, large global PR firm