I live under the bridge,
but I am proud of it.
At least I do not run when
the cops come around,
unlike those fellows who
leave their homes to share my space,
to smoke hemp
and get laid.

I walk around unclad,
but I am proud of it.
At least I am real,
unlike those fellows who try to copy me.
They walk around half-naked,
no guts to go totally naked like me.
I am proud of myself.

I speak gibberish, so they say,
but I am proud of my nuisance value.
It’s a lot better than the box of lies
robed in colourful linen with which
they feed the electorate while on the stump.

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