The Angels doth loudly protest:
“What kind of beast has the gall
To rule, or to even suggest,
That someone as saintly as Paul

Would uncleanly capture the ball
Then act like he couldn’t have guessed
A putout was needed at all
And left that concern unaddressed?

The sinner who cannot be blessed
Is someone, who after his fall,
Denies that he should have confessed
He blew it in making his call.

Under a rock he should crawl,
This lowly contemptible pest;
To duck being mobbed in a brawl,
He’ll need some new digs to infest.”

Oh, boo hoo. These Angels who bawl,
Who brag that their offense is small,
That they needn’t hit over the wall,
Deserve what cruel fate may befall,

For those who are truly the best,
Who are worthy of winning the quest,
Don’t live by befriending Joe West,
Then die whining, “I am oppressed!”