A Sort of Poem ?

Ode Tae a Wee Bastard !
( The 3-C’s .,., Colonic Cancer Cells or as Emile Zola might have called them ... A Bunch of Cunts ! )

Gaun a wee conivin, sleekit, cowerin’ bastard !Whit? Yer no’ cowerin’ ??
Well ye bloody should be ..
‘Cause I’m fightin ye all the way ,,
A'm laughin' in yer face, there’ll be nae surrender frae me ,,
But if they finally dae cart me away, jist you know ,,,
There’s mair o' me comin’ !
And we’re efter YOU, scum-bag
So beware ya wee shite .. eventually we’re gonna WIN !

So here’s that first laugh in yer face ....

Diarre.. ah ... Fur a ye.. ah ?
Isnae hauf funny ye know
It’s sair arse & piles ..it’s ointment and creams ..
It's runnin' like hell tae the loo
In fact, it’s nae fun at aw !

Diarre...ah, fur jist six months
Might be twice as good ?
Mibbies aye & mibbies naw ?
Or mibbie ah mean hauf as bad ?

For even wan month
Ah could jist aboot stool it !!
Nae problem at aw
But it’s a month wi'oot joy fur ma arse !

Noo a week ... A week ah could dae,
Staunin’ oan ma heid
Oh shit, Mibbie no’ ,, Jist sit on ma bum !

But wait, awthing’s gaun quite quiet on thon rear, Southern front
Ah huvnae moved fur some days
A’m sitting here pushin' like hell
Aw shite, Constipation's back wi’ a bung !!