the pleasant:
i think peasants should just die and be fed to the tigers!
i think those poors are simply soring our eyes to burst!
they are worthless as they are lazy which made them so,
honestly, sir, how disgusting faces they own, those hobos.
the peasant:
i think life is somehow unfair to us since the forefathers,
i think i have worked hard like coming to work first,
but why oh why never had my luck shoots up and give it a go,
perhaps the bow i'm using is not as lucky as the rich's arrows.
the pleasant:
thank you oh great, great, great grandfathers for this fortune,
i am as rich and powerful, feeling so stong just like Neptune,
but it would only last to other century so tell me how now,
the way i can survive cause i cant stand to work and bow.
the peasant:
thank you oh great, graceful God who created the breeze of June,
for making me from steel hence i'm somehow empathy and immuned,
for the family i will have one day, i'm promising this vow,
i will be prosper, they wont even have to raise their brows!
the pleasant:
hey peasants, i hate you for all the happiness and those serenity you ceased,
on the luxurious of my golden bed, never had i even once had any total peace,
tell me how, tell me now, your secrets of joy before i put you behind bars,
on the hardness of your arms, how could you still have the best sleep under the stars?
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