nursery rhymes

subliminal trickery's a well honed art,
game ran on the brains of man stone-smart,
since the early days, of our earthy shades,
to the times of our races grown apart,
so though wordly ways may seem modern to you,
you been duped and the truth hasn't gotten to you,
if your brain's maintained like a snail paced game,
any know--ledge gain's too sudden for you,
and hot buttons 'll do for plain folks refrains,
who just speak, repeat, the same jokes again,
the same blokes they blame, the same at--ti-tudes,
never thinkin' they stinkin' of plat--ti-tudes,
like the sad old fools they persist to be,
'slaved to man-made rules of their history,
making four right turns as the oil light burns,
that the point of their lives is a mystery,