And February smelled like mold
March can always be quite fell
But April? You go straight to hell.
When the horse died, what was that worth?
Then the neighbor mom—during childbirth?
But still, the cruelest month was bored
So you scuttled off to other shores.
You went to watch the Boston blasts
And you just sat there, on your ass
As killers packed their bombs with nails
And sent deadly poisons through the mail?
While Newtown families sat and cried
Watching as their Senate died,
You set off for a Texas town
And tried to knock their whole world down.
So what else do you have in store,
you attention-loving violence whore?
Orlando in a sinkhole's maw?
A meteor in Wichita?
They say your showers bring May flowers,
But that's not been worth these last few hours.
June's famous for its wedding bells
But screw you, April. Go to hell.
We don't have to take this crap:
You're just another lunar lap.
So until we grant you our reprieve
Piss off—the name of our fourth month's now "Steve."