Bad Apple

If one bad apple ruins the bunch,
Than what should one do with all the bad apples of the world?
I say let the halo crew of hypnotist hypocrites munch
On the fresh red fruit
(I myself prefer the bitter root) those in their riches, waxed and shined with love upon the knee,
I say no bad apple ever ruined a tree,
To those fallen goes the spoils, to those unfurled,
I shall continue in my way of elegant disgrace
Picking worms out from all the bad apples
So that even though they might be crushed
After they all rot; ferment be given over
To yeast and clover
Those same bad apples may save face
As a quick fix remedy for those who know their place,
And reach for a hard cider,
In the eternal thirst to cool the burn
That some in silent overtures and slow but deadly as a
poisonous spider,
May crawl unseen, traversing a shirtsleeve, till it reaches the tender side of throat and stings with a poison
and leave a redneck,
Oh though deadly for you I yearn