Oh by, I’z tells ya, what a gather'n!

A full scrib'n of da most portant counted a'figures,

And a rabble of numerous numberless identifiers.

Lets see, of da counted cult, der was:

A devilish finance wolf from da gassy coiner woods,

An unlikeable weasel awkwardly shrew'n every side,

A batty prince slap’n an unhappy vampire fairy tale,

A diva vulture eye-roll'n brutal authority as a drama,

A border-eyed opossum shack'n as a welfare tourist,

A well-suited mountain mole bribe'n for top position,

And, of course,

A perverted old snake, poison'n everyone in filthy lies.

Behold! Da rulers of da wealthiest hoard'n world!

Do you feel der radiant shine from atop da mountain?

Dey all gathered in glow'n paradise, dat Cult of Seven,

Summit'n way high above heavenly mountain cloud’n,

It be'n a real opportune turn'n point for der enrichening.

Bu lo, look ye Seven Fools, da poor be die'n hillside below!

Yet, der festivities went as expected for dis slop-trop gang,

A full roundabout table jabber never get'n anyth'n real done,

All of em high a mountain hunting, hosted by dat hungry wolf.

But I'z didn't see a monarch's chair der, so least dat was fair.

And as per usual,

It took da iridescent feathers of a crow ta cackle a truth fierce,

Swoop'n smart a full display across da hiss of dat snaky tyrant,

While a culty crew deliberated how dey should pose for a smile.

And most luckily, der was no stink'n rats invited,

Thou, dat snake tried its best ta stir sewer stank.