Master’s hammer on the table in the shadow of the mason’s apron
Like a fleshbound book brown and thick, a brindled front
Font of the sink he vomits into fond of drink, cider stink the carrot-clogged sink sings out for rinsing.
Ag rince head ag snámh, no control of my lámh
I only had seacht drinks I’m trí sheets to the wind
I’m so drunk that I reel when I jig, a real big man drink from a jug
Tough and fair as Brannigan Lugs, I could drink with kings and thugs
I could think with Aeschylus, I could sing an angelus, I am drugs.
Láidir when you’re full of powder, piss weak arms are lacking power
Like a broken genny, you’re broke and I’m gentry, Harp drinking bowsie
A pocket full of posie fits here if you say it like Ronnie Drew
You walking in with that wispy beard, someone drew a ronnie on
You’re like a runny egg, an absolute yolk, you soak in bread
Saw your brothers making piggies squeal, from incest look undead.
On dad’s side they’re all brainy, you who ride your dad and have been inside him
Might review his hole on tripadvisor, another thereto entice
Rabbit fast your sprog shitting, you are numerous as rice in China
You must spend days rutting, familial cut-ins, enticed into gran’s vagina
Your house stinks like a trucker’s pocket, more flies than a lichyard
What for you only my slightest regard, my heart to you a locked locket
You would snitch hard if red carded red-handed, you get naught for nothing and no lunch is free
You twitch hard when I pen dab-handed, forced to esteem by verb-handling you flee
Your clothes shake with fleas and doubtless harbour exotic disease, tropical maladies not seen since Columbus found blue oceans green
Your knees are unclean with pipe sheening, your words lack meaning and the only deep revealing therein marks you a cheater, a lip reader, a work tracer and horsecorpse beater
My stilling frisson thrills, my beak saws your plank cathedral
Your blank readership, all your clicks are alter egos
You alter egos, strengthening against your kind
In cooler climes you babble in bars about your venus in Mars and pretend people at home your scripting regard
Even with the language barrier people perceive that you are a retard
Hypocrite, oft hoist by own petard.
You can’t have after you don’t do something, I can have anything
I’ll have your cows a vile abactor enacting bovine crimes; milk’s divine and whisked right makes angel-delighting angel delight
I’m butterscotch nice and sweet smelling, you’re chicken stock licked like a lollipop salty and uncompelling
There is not one truth but many, all want pursuit
But your truth, truth told, is a Burzum tattoo.
Alchemisland 
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