The Hornet

Hornets are cunts, and they know it,

Swaggering in on jagged, nippy wings,

Cutting tension like blood thirsty butchers,

Giving it ALL the eyes, asking –

“Who wants some? You, son?”

But I don’t even know what you do?

Except fly around being a cunt,

Even wasps think you're dicks,

Angry wee radges square going with the world,

Too scared to stop and smell the flowers ‘cause you think that’s “gay”,

Go back to snarling at the sun,

Go back to loitering around syrups and making outrageous claims like you invented the word buzzkill,

Demanding what’s yours and what you’re owed –

What your even harder cousin in Asia will do when he gets here,

IF he even gets here,

You’ve been spinning that line a long time, Stiltskin,

About your so-called kill-kin,

The Daily Mail filled me in,

Tomorrow’s news already today’s fish n’ chip paper,

Taken with a fistful of salt,

Why won’t you just let me sit in the sun and sip on my drink?

Why don’t you sit yourself down and have a wee think?

It’s never too late to turn over a new leaf,

Take butterflies,

Kissing the air with their wings as they flutter by,

Delicate wisps of joy,

Never too proud to grow,

Never too scared to evolve,

Because let’s face it,

We’re all a bit ambivalent to caterpillars,

So hornet, old buddy, old pal

Perhaps this is your time,

Reject Satan,

Reject the Tories,

Reject the dark side of the force,

Be the butterfly,

And metamorphosize yourself from being a cunt.