Meanie

Whenever you possess souls,
Find in it, it's pleasure
To serve you immeasurably
For they have treasons and sharpness.

Tyrants, thou miscalculate,
Viewing ever in the world
Thou will dominate.

Your roar send shivers down
The spine of the less
Within the ambit of your status.

Your cry cut down
Their walks in life
And hit below their belts.

On the day, the soul owner
Shall rise from his throne,
Grasp the planet in it's throat,
Throttle, roll it left and right
Squeeze like rag.

Then make the loudest roar
That will send shivers down the spine of all
"where are the kings on earth"?
I am the king of all kings.