To the foul-mouthed

Hey, Saucy-mouthed,

I hear tales of your impertinence

They say you're ill-bred

And full of the utmost impenitence

With your sharpened tongue of puerility

Cutting down every statue of humility

You call your father a hound

And your mother, a bitch

You spit insults all around

Your temper is a bomb switch

Well, let me tell you

They say they make a fool

Whoever the gods would punish

So your choice it is, to live or perish