The Ballad of Dylan and Eric

Keep him down, that little fuck
Give him hell, let's break his soul
Smear his face, then we'll smear his name
Make his pain, our little game

When he tries, to talk to you
Simply tell him, to fuck off
Eye-contact is a luxury he doesn't deserve
Human contact, to him it seems absurd

After he's been tortured, for a good ten years
He can rebuild his ego, by shooting deer
In the woods, is where that creep belongs
Echoing his rifle's cracking song

Unfortunately the little fucker, just doesn't give up
He'll try again, to make ammends
Tie him up, and barrage him with whatever you find
Then he'll learn to find a new way to interact

The one flaw, with my beautiful plan
Was that this punk could fire a gun
So now we look at Columbine, and remember quite well
That we need to give fuckers like him hell