Good Op Nine Eight Four kicked out
The one named Steven,
When the chat lay round about,
Quiet 'bout AM Seven.
Brightly shone the moon that night,
Though the chatters were cruel,
When a new one came in sight,
Gath'ring flamer fuel.

"Hither, Him, and stand by me.
If thou know it telling:
Yonder newbie, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?"
"Fair Op, he lives a good league hence,
Underneath the mountain,
Right against the forest fence,
By Sir Percy Fountain."

"Bring me Ack, and bring Epic.
Bring me TD hither.
Thou and I will see him kick'd,
And the Chat shall quiver."
Him and Founder, forth they went,
Forth they went together,
Through the rude chat's wild lament,
Against the ruling's tether.

"Fair Op, the chat is dorker now,
And the flames grow stronger.
Fails my heart, I know not how.
I can go no longer."
"By my d'rections, my good Him,
Folly by them boldly:
Thou shalt fight the chatters' rage,
Be greeted less coldly."

By the Founder's rules he trod,
While the chat lay muted.
Heat was in those surly sods
Which the Op had booted.
Therefore, Chatting Men, be sure,
Hate or spam possessing,
Ye shall be shown the door,
And find you no blessing.