Twas the day before migration, and all through the site All seems normal, though this is the last night. Our threads are all laid out on the fora with care, While the investors cackle off in their secret lair.
Etcetera is nestled, all snug in its coffin. No more bags of corn shall threads be popping. And Lisa in her kerchief, and Rob in his cap, yet neither can find, the goddamned road map.
When up in site help there arose such a clatter, Though admin tells us your email doesn’t matter. “Illegal, Unethical” cry all the masses, Don’t like it? Opt out right on your asses.
Has Swimmy been flushed right down the toilet? Or for an organic office lunch, did you boil it? I s'pose it’s all over so why should we bother? Though some depart, there’s always another.
So I say we party like it’s 1999. I’ll bring the beer and you bring the wine. Where Etsy is going, none of us know, Promise you’ll hold my hair when I’m over the bowl.