The pseudonym I used means "Work of the Trickster" and is is Latin and Dutch. Here is the poem:
Two Lovers Eating Head Cheese
By = Opus Van De Oplichter
Muckity muckity, gimpity guckity,
All upon my knees;
Uppity puppetry for gibleted gumperies,
I ate up some good head cheese.
Flippity floppity, pageantish mockery,
Dressed like a dandy in drag;
Clippity cloppety, flim-flam floppety,
Please stop massaging my bag.
Dork-I-see fork-in-me, snot slip snorkelry,
Eating cherry pie with spades;
Knock for me Count-of-Three in your nunnery,
Priests and nuns making trades.
Shimmity shammity, flimmity flammity,
Snorkel inside chicken stew;
Crimeny mime-of-thee, ill-fitting biddy bee,
I ate some head cheese with you.
"Golly Olly Poogledokkins"
By = "Opus Van De Oplicter"
Crumbunctuous autocrats in floral attires
Sit sipping champagne and pissing on fires
While telling tall tales of being oppressed
For being well mannered and so finely dressed.
Well versed in the facts, they sputter like weasels
About the medicinal profits of measles
And singing an ode to the good ol' days lost
Which one fellow dressed plainly presumes to accost.
Says he, "All's not lost, and the world is well,
For the most part, and not at all buried in Hell.
We've food in our bellies and churches built tall
And people of all kinds are free without wall.
"We sit sipping champagne and pissing on fires,
Our clothes are not rags – we are richly attired.
Our wives hold grand parties and we eat fish eggs raw
That are shipped here from as far as old Shangra-La.
"Our coffers flow over with profits galore!
When's the last time you had to go to the store?
We feast every night till we roll down the hall,
Drunker than drunk and polluting the stall.
"We're free to believe whatever we choose,
And our companies run while we dare to snooze.
Nothing's beyond us or out of our grip,
Not even ditch weed or coke or catnip!
"Yet here we complain and we gripe and we groan
Even though we have nothing at all to bemoan.
All day long we sit sour like grumps
Feeling oppressed and down in the dumps.
"Our power is limitless, we've the masses in thrall,
They bow to our will, and that is not all!
We ignore our advisors who've knowledge well earned
As well as those books we yesterday burned.
"So why the tall tales of our being oppressed?
So some commoners say we have sins unconfessed...
So what if they can't see us as more than old grumps?
Maybe they're sore about having the mumps."
With pontificatious expressions of woe
The others condescend to pity their foe
For being so nescient on the gains got by mumps
That they forget to chastise his choice of black pumps.
Yet they call him a scoundrel, a sinner, a liar,
And proceed with haste to set him on fire;
Another log, smelling foul, goes into the flame,
And they swear on their lies to say never his name.
They flump back on their sofas with creaks and with groans
Five tons of flab moved by brittle old bones
Wheezing and whining in their floral attires,
Sipping on champagne and pissing on fires.