His head is an arrogant, smiling sphere.
He never does listen, though claiming to hear.
He thinks that he’s needed, when really he’s not;
As far as men go, he believes he is hot.
He says all the right things until you’re alone;
It’s then you find out he’s a windbag ego!
He talks of himself like he’s some kind of king;
The truth is, this man doesn’t do anything.
O never you mind what you want, do or say,
Because it’s all wrong if it isn’t his way.
He hates this exact kind of treatment, it’s true,
But never does realize his own attitude.
He talks and he talks and he talks and he talks,
Not lending a thought to the path that he walks.
I can’t stand his company driving me mad,
And I cannot pretend that it makes me feel bad.
I wonder his head can still fit through the door;
Despite all the air, can he fill it with more?
Yet I could consider him farther removed
By sticking a pin in his ego balloon!
I used all three things in the first line and had to continue, for today’s