You're a L33t 0n3, Largo-San.
But put your pants back on.
You messed up the convention
Now we've got to become gone

Sometimes you freak me out like
E-ed and Dom.

You reak badly, Largo-San.
Like you crawled out of a hole.
You went diving for some L33t g34r
and what've you got to show?

I wouldn't touch you with a

You played poorly, Largo-San.
Here I though you had more guile.
You have all the skills and cunning
of a giant drunk reptile.

Given the choice between the two of you,
I'd take the giant drunk reptile.

You are vicious, Largo-San.
Liquor makes you ran amuck.
Y'rushed the fanboys with a high-school class
'n Sonoda fired your @$$

The three words that best describe you are as follows and I quote,
"Drink. Drank. Drunk."

You're a nut-job, Largo-San.
Smashing fanboys with a cart.
Is that a bunny suit you're wearing?
Do I really want to know?

Your mind is a confusing dump heap overflowing
with the most unusual assortment of useless
rubbish imaginabale,
Held together, with duct tape and darts.

You enfuriate me, Largo-San.
With a rage I can't explain.
Y'mess up every thing you touch
Catastrophe's your middle name.

You're a diluted gaijin nutcase loser, and
You're really a pain.

Original Lyrics

You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch
Author: Dr. Seuss

You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch.
You really are a heel.
You're as cuddly as a cactus,
You're as charming as an eel.
Mr. Grinch.

You're a bad banana
With a greasy black peel.

You're a monster, Mr. Grinch.
Your heart's an empty hole.
Your brain is full of spiders,
You've got garlic in your soul.
Mr. Grinch.

I wouldn't touch you, with a
thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole.

You're a vile one, Mr. Grinch.
You have termites in your smile.
You have all the tender sweetness
Of a seasick crocodile.
Mr. Grinch.

Given the choice between the two of you
I'd take the seasick crockodile.

You're a foul one, Mr. Grinch.
You're a nasty, wasty skunk.
Your heart is full of unwashed socks
Your soul is full of gunk.
Mr. Grinch.

The three words that best describe you,
are, and I quote: "Stink. Stank. Stunk."

You're a rotter, Mr. Grinch.
You're the king of sinful sots.
Your heart's a dead tomato splot
With moldy purple spots,
Mr. Grinch.

Your soul is an apalling dump heap overflowing
with the most disgraceful assortment of deplorable
rubbish imaginable,
Mangled up in tangled up knots.

You nauseate me, Mr. Grinch.
With a nauseaus super-naus.
You're a crooked jerky jockey
And you drive a crooked horse.
Mr. Grinch.

You're a three decker saurkraut and toadstool
With arsenic sauce.

Copyright 1957, Dr. Seuss.

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