Let’s say that from the east while you look south
An icy snowball hits you in the mouth.
You see the kid who did it run, the wretch,
But he proves quite impossible to catch.
He’s gone. So you, your anger quite unsated,
Beat up another kid you’ve always hated.
You hit him from above and underneath.
Then smash his nose and rearrange his teeth.
Yes, pound on him until that dreadful punk’ll
Have no alternative to crying uncle.
Though he is not the wretch too fast to chase,
It’s hard to tell that once you’ve smashed his face.