Evans—
My
man Evans—
I
have seen your little auto-exposé,
And
you're just as self-absorbed as people say:
You
regurgitate your story play-by-play.
Evans—
My
man Evans—
Are
there any words that suitably convey
The
fatuity these images portray?
You
regurgitate your story play-by-play.
I
would rather sit through sermons
Till
my hair has turned to grey,
Than
to have to sit and listen to
Your
endless play-by-play.
I
would rather sit and suffer
With
the souls on Judgment Day,
Than
to have to sit and listen to
Your
endless play-by-play.
Bozhe
moi!
I'd
gladly sup any hype
But
tuppenny hype
Like
Evans's tripe;
So—)
Evans—
My
man Evans—
I
would recommend your little resumé—
As the portrait of a pompous popinjay.
You
regurgitate your story play-by-play.
