Snakes Slithering Thru Green Grass

After preening himself, he keenly eyed the woman
With mean intentions as he crawled up the tree . . .
Ah! And people do talk about the oldest profession
In the world in their obsession with lurid images
Without considering the slithering professional,
Who made the first case, then tried to fade away
With his notable gain and the stain he left behind,
Except he was constrained by the eternal Judge
In that first garden-turned-courtroom . . . Oh no!
What is oft-thought the oldest profession is close,
But the nuisance of jurisprudence is the eldest,
And the professional, very much like a prostitute,
We call an attorney! And what an awful journey
Have they made down throughout history while
Slithering boldly through fields of gold and silver!
Like the Serpent with Adam and Eve, they deceive
And receive an attractive sum
From their captive clients . . .
Oh, they are dutiful in painting a beautiful picture
Of bountiful prize, if you benignly sign your name,
And then the claim is sealed and the truth revealed:
Gain for the barrister, pain for the compliant victim,
But the obiter dictum is in the details of the papers,
And they have full right to whatsoever they claim
Without a fight and with no blame . . .
After all, you signed your full name!
Did God not condemn that first nefarious attorney
And his progeny to eat dirt in soil-covered shirts?
Ah, but it seems the dust they suck must be gold,
And the green, green grass grows ass-high for them,
These slithering, profit-making snakes,
Who make their life by fake and fraud!
Ah! Attorneys!

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