The Ballad of Pissant

The wee little Pissant complained more his fair share,
He wailed and cried that life just isn't fair.
Though he worked his work and he played his play,
The wee little Pissant cried all day.
This is not right! That is completely wrong!
Pissant found faults, even the night was too long!
Not a smile to his face, nor a shine to his heart
Who was to say what made him so dark.
He grew on the farm just his granny and he.
Granny, a charmed old peach, as pleasant as can be.
As a babe, he'd lost his mum and his dad,
Maybe this is what made Pissant so very sad.
When the wee little Pissant became a little Pissant man,
he told his granny "I'm going to the city to see what I can.
This old farm is no place for the world to hear me roar."
Granny said "The world is a big place and you'll never find your more."
Jostled into the metropolis by rough riding train,
A pretty girl across the aisle heard only him complain.
The seat was too hard the space was too few!
Poor little Pissant didn't notice the pretty girl and placid view.
Amid city bustle with luggage towed behind
The Pissant puffed his little chest and said "this oyster will be mine."
Indeed the city was vast and grand with splended wealth galore
Pissant found a dirty hotel was all he could afford.
Morning came early with horns and sirens and clatter,
This made Pissant grumpy and that was all that mattered.
Leaving his dour hovel, he went looking for a job -
He scoffed the smiling hobo as one of the world's poor slobs.
One can rise above a beggars' life that is so poor
And attain status of importance, floating on a sea of more.
Off he went to stake his claim nary a skill in his quiver
when weeks passed into months a powerful job he could not deliver.
Pissant was not suited for working at the bank,
Patrons all complained that he was an awful crank.
He tried his hand at building houses and then on road repair
But the work was hard and grueling and that just wasn't fair!
Where he ended up was a place of some despair
a basement file room, alone, and an uncomfortable chair.
Time it past, and boy it flew,
his dirty hotel room, a domicile it grew.
He complained of the city and of its noises. A scorner,
each day of the hobo still smiling on the corner.
Pissant did not understand why life just wasn't fair
Why did some have some, and few have much, and Pissant so little in compare.
His anger lashed at hobo one day, his rage frothing
The Pissant roared "How dare you smile for you have nothing!
This life cannot be!"
Hobo just smiled, as he was a mermaid and tortoise
had returned to pull him back out to sea.