On flights of retribution they so crave
Marionettes, they serve their oligarch
Puppet masters in their plan to enslave
They purge the ranks of all those who dissent
They silence, mock, and cancel them on site
As posers look on in bewilderment
While cowering in compromise and fright
But of the oligarch, please do not fret
For he shall soon be cut down like the grass
Hold your head high. You’ve nothing to regret
If you tell him to simply kiss your ass
Vain is the oligarch unto his death
His vanity is but a passing breath
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