Steve writes about his pet peeve


Wildwood is home to ubiquitous Steve
Sometimes things he writes make me heave
Once a flower child, when young and naive
Now old and bitter they’re his pet peeve

Says it’s the workin’ folks they aggrieve
In Communitarian bliss he wants to believe
It’s working for Mr. Charlie he’ll misperceive
Can’t stand those Zionists from Tel Aviv
He says they often practice to deceive

On the radio with Rose, he would weave
Conspiracy theories far-fetched to believe
Any unlucky listener in range to receive.
Would soon be gulping a handful of Aleve

With a Stihl chainsaw they’d like to cleave
All those nappy dreadlocks and make dirty fucking hippies grieve.

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