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)