This is the tale of a small little boy,
Who was sadly deprived of all life’s joy;
I’m supposed to call him “fetal tissue,”
But for me it’s not a PC issue;
I easily slaughtered him like a pig,
No problem, for he was soft as a fig;
Tongs crushed his skull like an egg’s brittle shell,
The demons cheered for me in deep, dark hell;
If I had failed, I’d have lopped off his head,
A simple way to make sure that he’s dead;
You can call me a killer if you dare,
It’s no big deal, so I really don’t care;
Then, I stealthily sold his body parts,
I earn good dough from babies' lungs and hearts;
I’m sorry, but I really have to run,
Now I’m off to the beach to have some fun.