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Two Kinds of Men

We come into this world bedecked in shit,

Some of us anyway, including Jesus.

But others are born rich as fucking Croesus,

Mightily proud, mightily proud of it.

The crown, the coronet, the mitre fit

Men for whom earth gushes out gold like geysers,

While we are lemons ready for the squeezers,

Scarred nags for spurs, bare backsides to be hit.


If Christ was one of us, why did he give in

Such plenty palaces for those to live in,

Making us stew in filth and sweat and pus?

Why, even on the cross, in the last flood

Of pain, it was for them he gushed forth blood

But trickled bloody water out for us.



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