The hand

You bite the hand that feeds

Again and again

And you get away with it

Crimes with no sin

Yet if someone dared

To do the same to you

You’d tell them to grow up

That you say, but won’t do

Of course there’s an excuse

One after another

Your self-righteousness

Makes others say “oh, brother”

The odd thing is

If I did what you do

I find myself lowered

A peg or two

Jealous, I am not

Of your wicked state of mind

I’m merely pointing out

It’s not hard to be kind

But when you’re always right

And you clearly are

You become the joke

Of people near and far

Find me, soon you will

We’ll have something to say

And all the while I’d be hoping

That you’d just go away