As translated by Rancid_Pickle
Sing, Marge, of Bart's rage,
Black and really not-light, that cause of the Springfieldians
Incalculable annoyance, pitched by countless pranks
Against the neighbors unto Hades' dark,
And left their egged houses to rot stinkily
For dogs and cats to pee on, as Bart's will was done.
Begin with the clash between Ned Flanders-
The okily-dokily warlord-and coollike Bart.
Which of the immortals set these two at each
Bar owner and stinky freak, offended
By the prank phone calls. Moe had dishonored
Lisa, Bart's sister, so the bartender
Struck the Simpson home with a plague,
Such that no pork chop were ever too succulent,
nor donut ever ventured.
Santa's Little Helper
Had come to the Simpsons homey camp
Hauling a fortune of old bones and crap.
Displaying Homer's sacrificial shredded sneakers
On a grass-free lawn, he made a formal plea
To the entire Flanders household, but especially
The wife and their two sons:
"Bark bark bark bark.
Bark bark bark bark.
Bark bark bark Woo-oooo bark.
Bark bark bark bark."
A murmur rippled through the Flanders':
"Respect our sleep and take the dog to obedience school."
But Bart was not pleased
And dismissed the Flanderseses with a rough speech:
"Don't have a cow, man."
The old man was afraid and he did as he was told.
He walked in silence along the whispering property line,
And when he had gone some distance from the brat
Prayed to the Lord, thusly:
"Hear me, Oh Lord, Protector of mankind,
Lord of Holy Moly, Master of Masters,
And God of all Flanders!
If ever I've prayed that pleased you
Or avoided fat thighbones of Milla Jovovich-
Grant me this prayer:
Let the the Simpsons pay for my tears with your donut pestilence!"
Reverend Lovejoy sayeth on the other end of the cellphone,
"Fuck off, Flanders, my wife is ovulating!"
But Bleeding Gums Murphy heard his prayer and descended Olympus' crags
Playing the sax, pulsing with fury,
The windowss rattling in their casements
As the angry musician moved like night down the heavens.
He settled near the Quick E Mart and let loose a note.
Reverberation from his silver sax hung in the air.
He picked off the customers first, and the lean delivery men,
But then aimed his sonic-tipped arrows at Apu
And blew until Apu finally gave him a squishy and a tofu dog.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch...
For nine days Ned Flanders fury built o'er
On the tenth day he called an assembly.
Mrs. Flanders, the white-armed maiden, planted the thought in him
Because she cared for the neighborhood and it pained her
To see them suffering. When the Ned's troops had all mustered,
Up stood the head Flanders, and he said:
"Well, gosh golly gee whiz, it looks as if we'd better give up
And sell the home-assuming any of us are left alive-
If we have to fight both the dog and the brat Bart.
But why not consult some prophet or priest
Or a dream interpreter, someone like Miss Cleo,
Who could tell us why the Lord is so angry,
If it's for a vow or a sacrifice he holds us at fault.
Maybe he'd be willing to lift this Simpson curse from us
If he savored the smoke from those marijuana plants
we're growing in the basement."
Ned had his say and sat down. Then up rose
Todd, son of Ned, bird-brain supreme,
Who knew what is, what will be, and what has been nerdy.
He had once guided the plunger to the toilet
And saved the hallway carpet.
He spoke out now:
"Father, beloved of Grandfather, you want me to tell you
About the rage of our Lord, the Almighty.
And I will tell you. But you have to promise me and swear
You will support me and protect me in word and deed
I have a feeling I might offend a person of some authority
Among the Simpsons, and you know how it is when a neighbor
Is angry with the next-door neighbor kid. He might swallow his temper
For a day, but he holds it in his heart until later
And it all comes out. Will you guarantee my security?"
Ned, the great runner on summer days, responded:
"Okily dokily! Don't worry.
I swear by the Lord, to whom you pray when you reveal
The gods' secrets to us after you called Reverend Lovejoy.
And look upon this earth, no one will lay a hand
On you here beside me and your mother, no, not even
Bart, who boasts he is the best of the Simpsons."
And Mrs. Flanders, the perfect wife, taking courage:
"The god finds no fault with vow or sacrifice.
It is for this home, whom Bart dishonored
And would not shut his damn dog up,
That the Lord deals and will deal ungoodness from afar.
He will not lift this foul dog barking from the Flanders'
Until we return the egging of the house
Unruly, unbought, and stolen eggs from the
Asses of chickens. Only then might we appease the god."
She finished speaking and sat down. Then up rose
Ned's other son, the whiny kid everyone wants to kick,
Furious, anger like twin black thunderheads seething
In his lungs, and his eyes flickered with fire
As he looked his mother up and down, and said:
"You damn hot, Bitch!
You've never given me a good pet. I want a dog!
You take some kind of perverse pleasure in prophesying
I'll be like Dad, don't you? Not a single favorable omen ever!
Nothing good ever happens! And now you stand here
Uttering this shit before the family, telling us
That your great ballistic bitchiness is giving us all this trouble
Because I was unwilling to accept the call of coolness
I could've laid the Simpsons' daughter
but preferred instead to keep her as a friend
In my room! And why shouldn't I? I like her better than
My mother. She's no worse than her
When it comes to looks, body, mind, or ability.
Still, I'll give her up, if that's what's best.
I don't want to see the family destroyed like this.
But I want another prize ready for me right away.
I'm not going to be the only fucker without a prize,
It wouldn't be right. And you all see where mine is going."
And Ned, strong, swift, and godfearing:
"And where do you think, son of a Bitch,
You greedy little fuckery-duckery, the magnanimous Simpsons
Are going to get another prize for you?
Do you think they have some kind of stockpile of daughters in reserve?
Every Quick E Mart in town has been saxed by Murphy.
You want the Simpsons to count their blessings,
and let you get Lisa preggers?
All right, you give the girl back to them unscrewed. The family
Will repay you three and four times over-when and if
we can ever find a bunch of hookers in this cartoon world."
Then Todd responded:
"You may be a good man in bed, Pops,
And look like a god to Mom, but don't try to put one over on me-
It won't work. So while you have your screw-toy,
You want me to sit tight and do without?
Give the Lisa back, just like that? Now maybe
If the family, in a generous spirit, voted me
Some suitable prize of their own choice, something fair-
But if it doesn't, I'll just go take something myself,
Your prize, perhaps, which makes me Oedipus,
And whenever she wants to, it'll stick my thingie in her throat.
But we can think about this later..."