Грифтуємо і римуємо.

[Зоя Давидовна Роттенкант]

You dog-hunting, griefing, nasty thing,
You pot-bellied, flop-eared, twisted tool,
The mentions of your name just make me heave,
And drop my shot-glass like a clumsy fool.
The memory of you is hard to bear,
A wretched soul from a distant place,
The meal is lost, the appetite is gone,
When thinking of your unpleasant face.
Unlearned and crude, of lower state,
Among the worst that one could find,
Depart from here and meet your fate,
With nothing but your grief behind.