Smug crushers who recieveth thyn cards

I hate thyn own self for checking  
that no one gives a shit  
about this spotty teenage,  
gangling git.  
 
I senteth you a card worth a silver Pennie,  
sealed with a loving kiss  
thy pimpled arse you bitch,  
you'll never knoweth what thy'll never miss.  
 
I loveth you, I loveth you, I loveth you almighty  
and all them clever rhymes like thus,  
wishing my night shirt were next to your nighty,  
but since though doth not know me, thats un-fucking likely.  
 
Thine classroom poppets are talking in tongues,  
who's dead fit and who might of sent it,  
bring on the soldiers boo haa brigade,  
square shoulders and jaws, how thy doin babe?  
 
I know my place and to keepeth out of the way  
of parading pricks on thoust special day.  
But what becometh of our ugly lot  
the ones whose dicks can't piss in thoust pot?  
 
We asketh of each other the same tortured question,  
did thy get a card from a name we can't mention?  
socially excluded our Roses doth be read  
but love be a tissue, stucketh to the bed.