You are old, Raparee, and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you posted a claim on the MOAB last week
You were God; pray tell what it was drove you to it?

In my youth, said the Bookman, I practiced collusion
And conspired to rise in the ranks;
And the practice this gave me in asserting delusion
Has made me as tough as a tank!

You are old, Raparee, and your hair has gone gray,
At least what there still is left of it!
How do you explain the remarkable way
That you holler of life, "I jes' LUBBIT!"?

In my young years, he said, I stayed sober and pale
And spent all my spare time on books!
But now I've retired, I find I have time
To take care of my wonderful looks!

You are old, Rapparee, and your mind has grown bent
And you often assert things unreal!
Yet you claim your divinity is heaven-sent
Not caring how others may feel?

Pish, tush! cried the Bookman, I say what I please!
ANd I let the chips fall where they fall!
Now leave or I'll quickly chop off both your knees
And offer your ashes to Baal!