The traditional loser has given himself permission to lose
handed himself over like a dirty coward pirate informing on his captain
the only thing that matters is your word and you sell it like cheap candy
You sell it with your pessimism
If you can't fight for what you believe in and when you do it's half your might
Then take the space for your weak body and your vagabond bum on the bench
Sit this one out and leave it to the players that love the universe
and don't blame it like a spoilt boy for all your misfortune
The loser, a predictable model of complaint and half measures
Not willing to step up the pace for fear of falling on their face
Still clinging to the chance he might claim the credit
Though like a rooster he crows loud he's just an everyday chicken
Sultry whining under their breath
not a drop of manhood in their depths
What a waste of a man an everyday loser in complaint
Pitching his bad luck from the superstition of saints
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