打油诗，叫《Chink Prole》先

没写过诗，胡乱打油写的 Margins we roam loads we tow fields we plow manufacturing we cope All we're left with is vague oath, woe and oats The ribbit of Toad, scatters the Rice Field loam Emitting odours, over the people the throne An Odyssey buried beneath, the billions' loathe Arise fellows, unite now and on the day we awoke was when chains broke Trash with might our foes, all tyrants be overthrown pests seized in there burrows, take back what they owe. Lo and behold, the finale blow ends all exploit, the tomorrow road. a red cosmos, L'internationale unites us in whole.