He barked “A jumped-up minstrel
Must not let his shadow stain
A Baronet and Knight Grand Cross”
Though pigeons did the same

“For I’ve commanded armies, Sir
I made the Xhosa kneel
And you’re not even real bronze
But fibre-glass and steel.”

Jackson yelled, his barge it rocked
He grabbed his crotch, cried shriller:
“You screwed up in the Transvaal, man.
But I recorded Thriller.”
“Perhaps,” Sir Bartle gave a snort
“Your hits were dope and killer
But this new effort, HIStory,
Is just old songs and filler.”
And so the statues of the ages
Bicker, snipe and boast
One era’s conquering hero
Is another’s wretched ghost

The present and the past can never meet
As did this pair
But look upon their odious pomp
Ye mighty, and despair