Don’t you dare just sit there and think,
And tell me that life is terribly hard,
And from holy charity buy me a drink
And put my soul on your credit card.
Don’t you dare come over here and whine,
And sit yourself down in my private woes
And ooze your sorrows all over mine,
And leave blobs of pain on my new red shoes.
Don’t you dare pick up your stinking glass
And walk away shaking your sapient head
Or I’ll scream the scream of the middle class
And make you wish you were already dead.