4 September 2012
Pour more drink,
Glasses clink.
Laughter rings,
Humour stings.
Subject chosen,
Cold eyes frozen.
If looks could kill,
That wine would spill.
Dressed in suits,
Ties to boot.
Don't you look dapper,
And you've got yourself a slapper.
You play the big man,
But what makes you think you can?
No talent, just talk.
I'll win, so start to walk.
Competitive? That's right.
Your shirt looks a little tight.
You're lazy, lack grace
I'll wipe that look off your face.
A competition, a war.
I'll fight you till' you're sore.
I'll beat your high score.
Driven? Yes, Sir.
Whilst your slacking I'll be at work.
And when you turn your useless back,
I'll make up for all the skills you lack.
You absolutely have no idea,
That I'm the winner here.
I'll be at the top,
Whilst your anger builds fit to pop.
So when you're looking up at me,
Remember to smile nicely.
Fight To The Top • Opuss № I