Oh, look at them—
The ruling class in their bespoke suits,
Lounging on thrones made of our unpaid overtime,
Sipping champagne like it’s holy water,
As if their greed is a sacrament.
Blessed are the billionaires,
For they shall inherit everything.
But hey, we’ve got a different gospel.
One with sharper edges.
See, the guillotine isn’t just a tool;
It’s a conversation starter.
A little icebreaker for the out-of-touch,
A friendly reminder
That you can’t hoard the whole bakery
And leave us fighting over crumbs.
They say,
“Violence isn’t the answer!”
But we’re not asking questions anymore.
We’re just here to redistribute
Their necklines.
Oh, don’t worry, we’ll make it nice.
Throw a little party.
A picnic in the square—bring your friends!
We’ll serve justice à la carte,
Heads piling higher than their offshore accounts.
It’s not personal, you see.
Just business.
The same way they framed it
When they gutted pensions,
Privatized health care,
And turned housing into a Monopoly game
Where the only rule is “don’t get poor.”
Oh, but they’re sorry now!
Suddenly all about philanthropy,
Writing checks that bounce harder
Than their excuses.
“I didn’t know the peasants were starving!”
Darling, you’re the reason
They can’t afford bread.
But let’s keep it classy.
No need for a scene.
We’ll schedule it right after brunch,
Between the caviar course
And the revolution.
We’ll even give them a choice:
The guillotine,
Or they can keep their heads—
On a pike.
It’s poetic, really.
Their legacy won’t be marble statues,
But a cautionary tale:
Don’t build your empires on the backs of the people
Unless you want those people
To flip the whole table.
So here’s to the corrupt!
The clueless! The greedy!
Raise a glass,
Then raise the blade.
We’re serving justice today—
And it’s a slice of humble pie.
