A/N- This is a poem comparing Gilroy to poetry. I had to write a poem for English on how I felt about poems, so this is what I did.
Writing poems is not fun,
A hotel fire on day one,
Crumble, tumble house of words,
Plays with guns and not with swords,
Crying, trying for no gain,
Steal a non-existant plane,
Just like old guys with mullets,
Not afraid of rubber bullets.
Some words you cannot find,
An evil, limey mastermind,
Something bad, no not math,
A freelance psychopath,
Not like baking pie,
Needs the help of a burned spy,
For this there is no need,
Killed by the prisoner he freed.
A/N- As you can see, I suck at poetry, but for those of you who read, reviews are wanted. Thank you. Oh, and tell me which you think is eviler.