the Burger King protests

i see the on the talk

show

a man in a velvet pants

and cape, a crown,

a scepter,

wearing his high

boots.

despite being

draped in jewels

there's a frown on his face.

why are they picking

on me?

he asks,

forlorn and weary.

what have i done to deserve

such a fate?

why do they keep chanting,

no kings,

no kings.

i'm a king, so what. i only

want to make people

happy

with my burgers and fries,

my charcoal

methods of grilling meat,

my three sizes

of soft drinks.

yes.

i'm a king, i'm royalty,

i was born

this way. 

i was born to be a king.

i am one, i admit it.

please, give me a break.