One, two, Prakash Saint Paul stole my two
Three, four, he is not a homo
Five six, I insist he is a fish!
Seven, eight, he pretends that he is just the bait
Nine, ten, I can never know when
eleven, twelve, treachery comes out of his abysmal well
Thirteen, fourteen, it always has been
fifteen, sixteen, for me to cop his cunning and mean
And I can count to a billion hundred
I swear I die from his crimes against me, each moment, but I am never dead
When will Prakash Saint Paul get it into his head
that he is the deep sea like a bullet is lead?!
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