When the williwaw blows the river down
And the land is white and frozen
This fool at Horton's will be found
Bumming smokes, and dozin'

No industry in his feeble brain,
Nor virtue in his heart,
His sullen mind knows only beer,
And food, and sex, and farts.

His fingers stained with nicotine
Show nary a worker's callous
And the only work he puts them to
Is a gesture like a phallus.

He does not speak except to sneer,
Nor think except to mutter;
His life belongs nowhere but here,
Blind River's foulest gutter.

Say then a prayer for Shane McBride
And dance a blessing-dance,
For his mind will never change as long
As he keeps it in his pants.