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48 Inhale not, O! pen-peer, the lung-withering oxygen To die Of this cancer Of the longthroat, Bereaving the tribe Of the patriot in you ARISE! In the skull and cross-bone days Of parliamentary draculocracy, When cranial-nuts Crack open under the hammer of surfeit – and sucked To political obesity, is the people’s brain matter; Swine fodder for them; hogs of men – Lost Is battle not fought Back to back with fellows So up from slumber, O countryman of letters! And pick up your spear of jagged diction, penned From infuriated biros, To face the gastrocrats And, hard in the eye, Stab them one and all ...

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