The Scold

Depravity is my calling card,

it follows where ever I go

And though it makes the going hard,

I’m afraid it’s all I know

Once on my road to perdition

a sober friar I did meet

He offered this admonition,

a guilt trip at my feet

He said: “You should strive for virtue”,

with a cross-armed, scolding stance

I said: ” I do nothing that hurts you”,

as I looked at him askance

He said: “The wise man turns from folly

and wisdom does not eschew!”

So I countered with this volley,

“The same applies to you!”

He stuttered and he stammered,

not knowing what to say

He was weaving as if hammered

I thought maybe he’d go away

But a scold is proud and haughty,

immune to any rebuff

So I’ll go on being naughty

Thanks, I’ve heard enough

 

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