A prophecy's a silly thing
to conjure up a hero's fate.
Some shmoe is destined to be king
who was a shepherd boy till late
and lay on hillsides, taking naps
while the dog did all the work --
make him king? What is this crap?
Why give a kingdom to this jerk?
The prophecy! Oh, right, forgive me
for thinking we might want a guy
who at, some passing time, was privy
to something more than "Clouds go by!"
Ever notice all these prophets
always pick unlikely dudes?
Not someone you wouldn't scoff at.
No, it's shepherd boys with 'tudes,
bastards left upon a hillside,
clutching some convenient rag,
are they smart? No. They can kill guys.
Well, raise a motherfucking flag!
They get a quest, and promptly head off,
boosted by this prophet shite,
come back again, wave high aloft
some wings plucked from a fairy sprite.
The head of some poor snakey chick,
who was awakened to a fight.
It's revolting. Makes me sick.
And that somehow gives them the right.
Can you imagine some HR guy
telling you, mid-interview,
"There's no doubt you're qualified.
But this guy got the fleece. You're through."
I say, fuck the dude who snagged
the fleece of some molested sheep
he prob'ly buggered as it baa-ed --
I'm telling you, that guy's a creep.