Hear ye him, Oh Mr Know-All,
But who indeed knows nothing,
For the fact of not being truthful,
Because he is always cunning in his ways,
Seeking not only to tax people’s patience,
But also, to play on their intelligence,
Thinking everyone is a fool,
As he probably is, concluding from his behaviour.
He does not know his own history,
Yet, he claims to know better the history of others,
Which verily he does not, sly as he is,
Foxy he is in conducting his affairs,
And always a disgrace he becomes,
Because his ways are not straight but crooked.
Yes, he has developed the toughest skin,
Tougher than that of the hippo or the elephant,
Nothing, he hopes can pierce through his skin,
And so audaciously seeks to commit more crimes with impunity,
Thinking he is the most powerful of all,
Forgetting that the mighty elephant succumbs to the tricks of a crab,
And is brought to his knees or death by this tiny crustacean,
Although tough his skin is,
Hollow also his trunk is.
Simple truth makes him weep inconsolably,
Like a toddler in hunger pangs,
Crying to attract the attention of his mum,
To hurry to place her milk-laden breast in his mouth,
To quench his troubling hunger,
Yet he claims to have developed a tough skin,
Tough the skin may be,
But pierced it already is,
Hence weeping when truth touches his skin,
Lightly although it may be.
Cease being crafty, Of Mr Know-All,
For evidence has proved you lacking intelligence,
Although deception makes you believe contrary,
Pushing you into the abyss of disgrace,
Into the bottomless pit,
Where your supposed detractors are waiting,
To take a pint of your blood,
And a pound of your flesh,
Wherefore you will bleed to death,
The wages of being Mr Know-All,
But actually, a Mr Know-Nothing,
Cloaked in tough skin,
Which is, but full of holes.
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