Symptoms of The Bully's Croup
By Alfred Symon
Beware all bullies!
Try to brace to your mummies!
The croup of all ages is here
You will die, if I can make it clear
To those who bully another
Your life will be sadder
First, you will experience breathing spasms
And faint tickles on your bosoms
Your larynx will feel bloated
In days, you won't notice it just exploded
Everything you eat tastes like treacle
Yes, there'd be no miracle!
Just pain and suffering
Oh, please stop your crying
To all evil kids who dump heads on toilets
You'll feel like you're cooked on fiery skillets
Sooner or later you will vomit blood
And it will have an aftertaste of mud
You will also be weak on the edge
Smaller kids may give you an atomic wedge
Tasty, isn't it?
My dear patient, also prepare to be hit!
Because a car will surely hit you
And for the time and date, I have no clue
Maybe it's just luck
Or maybe muck
But I'm only a mere doctor
I'm no prophet or proctor
Although, carry this, young bully
On twelve o' clock, (Stop that, you look silly)
Later this evening, a ghost will pay you a visit
And then you will realise it's a boy you hit
Who died because you hazed him
Because he didn't give your every whim
How to cure it you ask?
In the open school public, you bask
And shout with joy "I'm now a good boy!"
"And I'm no McCoy!"
Well my patient, good luck!
And try not to suck
You will live, I think
(Sigh, another death on the brink)