Living as a bumblebee
Is really very lame.
Your life is run by mind control
And every day’s the same.
Our homes are much too sticky
And attract too many bears.
Yellow and black are so last Spring
But no one ever cares.
It’s hard to have an argument
When your sole source of defense
Creates discomfort in your enemy
And kills you in recompense.
And so we drone and buzz and fly
And polenate a bagonia,
Humming “Fields of Gold” by Sting,
Hoping the queen does not disown ya.