"Who the hell wants to sit with the losers."
Snorted he, self-perceived as the Coolers,
Them Lot. Deaf and blind, merciless abusers,
Beautified by the false robes of Lucifer.

"Who the hell do they think they are?"
Strides strapped with titles, self-claimed stars,
Lives rendered rotten, yet still stand afar,
Afar from us, never a care for the Losers' Bar.

"What are they to say we can't?"
"No chance no nothing" - all mere chants.
Them Lot. Thirsting for our Scants,
Awaiting for our downfalls, for the Final Rant.

But they failed.
For we outlasted their weaves of cynicism,
And - and we survived the labyrinth of criticism,
Bathed in the Fountain of Self Identity and Euphorism!

So you ask who the hell are we?
I will tell you who we are,

We are the losers,

Go on and taunt, oppressors,
We are the Losers,

Bring it on, violators,
We are The Losers,

Stay and confront, superiors
We do not fear Them Lot.
We do not fear.


Remember The Losers.