An Agitator

The old bloke said your rhymes are bad you are a second rater
And you don't like a certain class you play the agitator
And you'll be bound for satan's hell when the grim reaper take you
As heaven's not for one like you since god he will forsake you.

One would have thought he would be more kind with years most people mellow
But I did not argue with the man the cranky aged fellow
He was entitled to his views when he said my rhymes were rotten
That I would not live on in print and I'd quickly be forgotten.

An agitator is a bloke who likes to stir up trouble
He likes to drag tall poppies down and reduce them to rubble
And though I hope I'm not that way if some of my rhymes seem bitter
It's just that I don't like the social elite they rile me with their glitter.

The old bloke said your rhymes are bad you are an agitator
And though I did take some offence at being called a second rater
I did not argue with the man for than me he was far older
And he was right in pointing out that I've a 'chip on my shoulder'.