Call Of Duty
Guys who play too much Call of Duty,
Never have a hope of getting any booty,
They just sit there and twiddle their thumbs,
The ladies see them as a bunch of bums,
It's not a turn-on to be a couch potato,
In your trance, in front of the TV's glow,
Is that the most exciting thing in life?
Maybe you need to go out and find a wife.
How can you spend hours in front of a TV screen,
You, and the real world, it has come between.
Isn't there something better on a Saturday night?
Than to spend it all in a make-believe fight?
Is that really such a practical skill?
To move a joy-stick and click to kill?
Is it that important for you to hone?
Or will it make you wind up alone?
It frustrates me to no end,
When I see all the time that you misspend,
This is what you do with what God has given?
Can you honestly say this is what you call livin'?
When you get old and gray, will you regret it?
Whole days of your life, to your X-box you commit.
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Submitted on June 27, 2014
Modified on April 21, 2023
- 58 sec read
- 68 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | AABBCCDDEEFFGGHHIIJEKK |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 915 |
Words | 192 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 22 |
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"Call Of Duty" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 20 Sep. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/67643/call-of-duty>.
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