People are sick,
They deserve a roundhouse kick,
On their sneaky, filthy asses,
And painful, itchy rashes!
Their own business they will never mind,
My privacy to the dust they'll grind,
And disappear leaving no trace,
All they leave behind is unrest, disgrace.
Alternative activities for them I will search,
So later I'm not left in the lurch,
Some evil pleasure they derive,
In eating people alive!
In hell will they burn and singe,
While I lean back and enjoy the binge,
Keep your nasty, malicious eyes off my back,
Or your head will end up with a crack!