Have you heard the kvelling two,
Hound-like they bark, parevenus [sic].
They're a braying screwy pair
And they blow a lot of air.

High voices, harrowed hollers,
Sounding lots like hog-callers
(Neither would eat swine).
Talking all the time. . .
I wish each were a mime.

Hot air they blew;
Each is a schmoe, a yo-yo too.
It grows, my woe; teeth gnashin'. . .grits.
Putz and shmuck kibitz.

Diss'nant types who have a bray throat,
Yamm'ring snipes ain't got a stayed throat--
Hissy fits.
Putz and shmuck kibitz.

Mensches they ain't; each squalling, meshugge;
Mellifluous voices minus sugah--
Cool it, could ya?!

Grumbling shtik from talker fellers;
No-goodniks, these squawker yellers--
Call it quits!
Putz and shmuck kibitz.

Tit for tat they go on; we're unhappy,
As they prate on with their endless rap; we
Feel real crappy

Their hot air makes eardrums popping;
Looks like there's no way of stopping
Blintz-fueled blitz.
Putz and shmuck kibitz.