An Agitator

The old bloke said your rhymes are bad you are a second rater And you don't like a certain class you play the agitator And you'll be bound for satan's hell when the grim reaper take you As heaven's not for one like you since god he will forsake you. One would have thought he would be more kind with years most people mellow But I did not argue with the man the cranky aged fellow He was entitled to his views when he said my rhymes were rotten That I would not live on in print and I'd quickly be forgotten. An agitator is a bloke who likes to stir up trouble He likes to drag tall poppies down and reduce them to rubble And though I hope I'm not that way if some of my rhymes seem bitter It's just that I don't like the social elite they rile me with their glitter. The old bloke said your rhymes are bad you are an agitator And though I did take some offence at being called a second rater I did not argue with the man for than me he was far older And he was right in pointing out that I've a 'chip on my shoulder'