Fawn, Lick and Grovel’s advice has come in:

Turn the other cheek, take it on the chin.

It’s should be simple to sit there and grin,

While he spills all his gibberish and bile

(In other circumstances, you might smile).

You have to be his stooge and feel his smack,

And grit your teeth as you’re stabbed in the back.

A handshake with the king, or fulsome praise,

May push humiliation back some days,

But in the end, this dissolute liar

Will drag you back to his line of fire.

However much you grovel, lick or fawn,

Your efforts to impress will be forlorn:

You’ll join the pile of rejects on his lawn.