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https://files.catbox.moe/vl8kid.jpg
This is a bunch of west point boons.

And here they are saluting everything nigger https://files.catbox.moe/2l5r6l.jpg

Deep in the ghetto, like the one in your town, there lived a young niglet, skin, eyes, hair - all shit brown.
Way down 45th St, in the land of bix noods, lay the small hood of Nigton, residents ugly and crude.
Ask any nigger and they'll have you believe: "Aint no place like Nigton, Everywhere takes EBT".
Every door always locked, and the windows have bars, and the niggers of Nigton shooting guns from their cars.

MLK Day was fine, First of the month even better. They would wait by the mailbox for that government cheddar.
But every nig knew, from their Nikes to their cornrows, Christmas day was the best time of year in this ghetto.

Yes, every nigger in Nigton liked Christmas a bunch. They could go to down to church, and enjoy a free lunch.

But The Negrinch hated Christmas, he was filled with resentment. Resentment for the White kids, who always got presents.
Maybe it was his crip walk, he couldn't get it quite right. It could be that his knock-off Reeboks were too tight.
But any white person could see his greatest flaw, was perhaps that his brain was two sizes too small.

...

Little Tyrone would wonder, with his feral chimp brain. Why did the Negrinch hate Christmas? Someone stole his gold chain?
Whatever the reason, his shoes or his brain, he sat outside on his porch, abusing weed and cocaine.

"Man fuck Christmas" he said, as he snarled and scowled. He threw his hands in the air, and the smell was most foul.
"Lemme get a dolla" he said to a fatherless child. "Ima go to da sto, get me a black and mild"

..

The Negrinch knew tomorrow all the niggers would crowd - 'round the church for the gibs, being smelly and loud.
"When dey gone I'm gon sneak in, be stealin dey shit." It would be in broad daylight, he did not care one bit.
"Ima get me a tv, radio, some new shoes" For he didn't mind prison, he had nothing to lose.

And the niggers of Nigton rushed the church for free food, and the Negrinch said "Now's my chance, muhfugga, bix nood!"
The more the Negrinch though about all the free stuff, he'd been given in life, but it wasn't enough.
Not the food stamps, or scholarships, handouts and housing. Not the things that he stole when he said "I'm just browsing"

The Negrinch put out his blunt, tucked it behind his ear. Looked over both shoulders, there were no police near.
He broke into the first house with a crowbar he stole, and he stashed it for later near a telephone pole.
He went house to house, looking for things to loot. With his gun in his waste band, in case he had to shoot

All the houses left empty. Save for stench in the air, no nigger in Nigton ever knew he was there.
He walked down the cracked sidewalk, pillowcase full of gibs. "I can't wait to get all this shit back to my crib!"
But before he could sort through it all piece by piece, he turned 'round the corner, and was shot by police.

...

♪♪You're a dumb one. Ne-grinch. You really are a coon. Intelligent as a hammer, not quite sharper than a spoon, Ne-Grinch!
You're a smelly impulsive violent dumb baboon.

You're a felon, Ne-Grinch. Your brain's an empty hole! Your head is full of cobwebs, and your skin's as black as coal, Ne-Grinch!
It's not a stretch to say you - Have no semblance of self-control!

You're a gross one, Ne-grinch. You have roaches in your house. You have all the hygiene habits of a New York City mouse, Ne-grinch!
If I saw you in my living room - I would have the whole place deloused.♪♪

Twas the time before lunchbreak, when all the kids knew
Little David the jew would sell his parents homebrew
The backpacks were hung in the coatroom so dark
Even Alex the snitch wouldn't notice - that fucking narc

The children were sitting at their desks all in wait
While scanning the classrom; preparing to collaborate
And teacher at her desk giving advice to sweet Sally
Helping distract the old bag with mathematical blind alleys

When back in the coatroom we heard bottles explode
The beer that David's parents brew were over-carbonated loads
The noise was too loud - now the deaf kid even glared
Towards the space that all of our backpacks shared

Before the teacher had a chance to check what was the matter
From the corner of the classroom came another terrible clatter
The nigger kid Tyrone tried jumping through the windowpane
Slicing his femoral artery - causing his blood to sputter and drain

With the chaos that ensued, it was a bit much to bare
For the little old teacher - she fainted in her chair
The kids scrambled to the coatroom to clean up their mess
While Abby tied her sweater round the nigger kids leg, more or less

"Now don't tell anyone what happened, Alex, you little fucking faggot!"
"On my mother's grave!" promised the kid through his sheltering jacket.
Clean up this blood! Get rid of the beer!
Don't let it go to waste! Give it here!

As soon as the kids knew their asses were covered,
Old Mrs. Nicholson awoke from her slumber;
The blood stained carpet she'd have to later clean, somehow
But a dying student under her care she'd not allow

And just then, in a moment of schadenfreude
That ruthless kike David began to mock the negroid
As the teacher came to reproach the little dastard
She smelled the beer off of Sam, the class bastard

He was soaked all in beer, from his chin to his shoes,
After all - he chugged what remained of his friend's booze
He knew the trouble he was in, but reminded her
That it wasn't as bad as the time he got caught with reefer

His eyes - how they twinkled! his chuckle - how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And with the beer he still held onto made it all such a show.

Just then, the little nigger kid collapsed to the floor
And the panicking teacher to the kids implored
To grab out their phones and call 9-1-1
For Tyrone's skin discoloration had begun

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly niglet
Every Thursday he would bring to lunch Wednesdays gigot
The surplus of food and snacks and meals his family could afford
Was purchased with the EBT assistance cash their family would hoard

There he lay, a public pimple now surrounded in a pool of blood
As the air filled with the smell of iron and clay mud
And the responding ambulance had arrived far too late
I guess it was too bad for Tyrone - they could not resuscitate

The infamy of that school year still celebrated every year
By tenured woke teachers who would cower in fear
If ever they heard the phrase that would drive them out of sight
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!“

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