Lady of the Flies

Can't you hear the flies a'buzzing,

     upon the windowsill?

They are aching to escape.

They can't stand the putrid smell.

This place is grimy, oh so grim.

It should be boarded up, condemned.

Can't you hear the babies crying;

     noises from the garbage bin,

     and do you like to lodge with putrid funk,

     and dine in excrement?

You're a microbial metropolis,

     a conveyor of infection,

     a biohazardous, contagious,

     walking pathogen confection.

You eat with the flies

     that lay their babies on your baby,

     and the baby dines with maggots.

Yes, it's true.

     

    

Boy your mama must be proud to know,

     the little maggots' favorite playmate,

     is her very first grandchild,

     and the next has just begun to gestate.