They all danced and sang in praises,
When Ormo went into the ground.
They pranced upon his very grave,
And stomped down the soily mound.
“Fuck you, Ormo!” hollered some of the men.
“I loved him,” some women cried.
Others just drank and wildly caroused,
While one person sat alone and sighed.
See, Ormo was his dearest friend,
All the long way to his very sad end.
“It’s all right, Igbo,” Ormo would say,
“I’ll be well soon, and then…”
And then Ormo died right then and there,
From drinking, gambling and sex.
Ormo lived his life with a very big L,
Until his health took a very big S.