Filth and garbage! Filth and garbage!!
Self-appointed censors rue the “carnage”
coming from another they feel it’s their duty to smother.

“Kill the carnage! Kill the carnage!”
Nose color’s the complement of orange.
Some words get them tenser—
they decide they must be the censor.

“Fie! Fie! Fie!” they remonstrate in vocal effusion.
“Lye, lye, lye should be substrate for a vocal ablution!”

It’s not orange, it’s not orange,
the hue of the organ heard in snorage.
So they try to smother anything that don’t fit their druthers.

“Die! Die! Die! should be the fate of shock-thought pollution!
Why, why why, can’t we retreat to a Comstock solution?!”

Snip from “orange,” snip from “orange”
just the N, and you’ll be left with “orage”…
means “storm” in another tongue; but the sum
total: There’s one in a teapot from those who’d smother.