GET THEE BEHIND ME, THUG — a rant

When boys collect an assortment of toys
You can guarantee there will be some noise.
A man or an animal quite enjoys
Illusion, subterfuge, they’re backstreet boys —
Employs devious poise, fancy convoys
Rolling down the street, the road, thus destroys
My QUIET with their highfalutin noise!
Oh, they’re nothing but inferior alloys.
Mischief, as a technique, an imp employs
Shattering the illusion of discrete “poise”.
I WISH to snare silence [!] the real McCoys!