There’s a beer for each rhyme
Having fun wasting time
For it’s liquor that makes Derry scrawl
And empowers his style
He’s a stoned juvenile
As he snickers a weird caterwaul
His effete, stilted brother
High-strung, rarely wrong
Debon sighs, thinks he’s right, has some tea
Stupid pratfalls and guile
From the brothers gone wild
And how vile and riled they seem

When irate guys are rhyming
Words of spite and scorn they’ll sling
For the thrill of fives they’re after
With no fear of pain or sting
With AmIRighteous scrapping
They will hurl with trite clichés
And when irate guys are chiming
Churlish squeals will spark your praise

For a while they were smart
With the subs they’d impart
No mistakes in the pun lines they’d write
Now they sing about prongs
Spoofing call girls and thongs
Turn to crappers, transgenders and dykes
For this sin on the site
They’ll be beaten and mauled
By the parody bears they upset
And the one bombs bring scars
To the shallow, rude bards
So reviled, depantsed and yet

Them irate guys are wily
Fertile minds absorb the sting
From the chill of dire disaster
You can cheer or one bomb spring
Them irate bards are crafty
They endure the frightful pain
And when irate guys are rhyming
Sure, they’ll heal and start again