Churlish miscreants

Hence from me, thou puny,
milk-liv'red, mule-headed,
half-brained clotpole.
Fucketh hence to the furthest side of fuck
and at which hour thee receiveth th're,  
fucketh hence some m're.
 
Taketh with thee thy fawning,
brainless whey-faced lap-dog;
that knave who deliv'rs m'rsels of discontent
directly to thy shell-like;
that knave unendow'd with p'rsonality
'r thoughts his owneth.  

Encave within thy tow'r  
of suppos'd superiority.
Bid each oth'r what thee wanteth to hear
as thee both gazeth like nodding dogs
into each oth'r's vacant eyes.  
 
While th're, contrive to buildeth
one useful noggin between thee,
to replaceth the thick death-heads
thee currently possesseth.
Thus, thee errant, hedge-b'rn codpieces
might realise the error of thy boil-brain'd ways.