Hey you there with that cup of ale,
The things with that epic fail,
They will get you into jail,
Where you will get no mail,
And pee in a pail,
And feel no blustery, winter gale,
Bombard us no more with hail.
Soon you will grow a tail,
Like that old coot named Dale,
And his older brother Kale,
No matter if you are male,
Or if you live as a female,
The ocean you will no longer sail,
Where no longer you will spot a whale.
Do you not believe my tale?
Holding on to that rail,
Your knuckles are so pale,
And inside your throat grows a wail,
Hiding under that mysterious vale,
More scared than a quail,
As if you are stabbed with a nail,
And sitting on a lumpy hay bale.
Out of here you will not bail,
Not in a whole-hearty sale,
Here in this jail you have tried so hard to force me in,
But you have instead earned yourself a spot availed to me,
Now who has prevailed?
Amber Glistener
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-a-bully-2/
