Check me out, without a doubt, I’m about to take it over
The world of poetry is mine, so lose the four leaf clovers
Takes more than luck, to saddle up and make off with the trophy 
You step to this; ridiculous; cause you don’t even know me
I was the one, behind the gun, that made the commies nervous 
From eighty-three to ninety-two, on active Army service 
The first one up, to press his luck, was Kim I’ll Sung, himself 
He found me at the DMZ, with his daughter on my lap 
He rushed to me, aggressively, and smashed me on the jaw
And said, you silly little turd, up here, I AM the law
He grabbed his daughter by the neck and slung her toward the North
She landed hard, among his guards, in bunched up biker shorts 
They placed her in the limousine, then scrambled to their posts 
I laid there on the DMZ, staring up at this old goat
He tried to kick me, whiffed and missed, and fell across the line
Behind our  South Korean guards; oh yeah, son;  it’s my time 
I helped him up, politely, and I dusted off his threads
Then grabbed him by his scraggly chin, and this is what I said 
If you’re the law, the law is flawed and such a waste of time 
So, tell me this, your wickedness, just what is on your mind 
He blustered, growled, with breath so foul, I had to give him space 
I busted out the Chiclets, which I shoved into his face
Here, take a few, I beg of you, cause this just can not be
I pulled my gun, said I insist; now, kindly take some, please 
He wolfed down half and coughed and gagged, then chewed upon the rest
I holster my gun; with a gloved thumb, flicked drooling from his vest
Now, look here; can I call you I’ll; Il, baby, here’s the gig
The US government is some upset, about the things you’ve did
You’ve got to tone it down, my boy; there can’t be no repeats 
Or I’ll be forced to take you down and advocate your seat
The Japanese are not well pleased that we are on their lands
Think Hiroshima, Papasan, and I think you’ll understand 
The fear was clear, within his eyes, my message was not ignored 
I said unity must be willing and free, not forcible absorbed
I walked him to his bodyguards, who quickly took him over
To the Northern side of the DMZ; his driver started the motor 
Before he ducked into his ride, he asked me, what’s your name 
I said, the Defender, Ink-pen Slinger; and that began my fame 
For forty years, among the shadows, I’ve written on the walls 
The Shiit-house Poet strikes again; as some may well recall 
From battlefields to Arburn Hills, to great mid-Western plains 
The Ink-pen Slinger’s done the deed; so, none forget the name 
You’ll never meet my equal, for a century or more 
All those who try; like trophies;  will be hanging above my door 
With a little tag; there to remind; how foolish man can be
Did you really feel, your puny skills, could master one like me