Lightning storms on Saturn
Convert methane, into soot
Which hardens into graphite
Then to diamonds. So, take a cut
If you have an idea
While I own you…
It’s my idea
True?
I’ll sue
But…
If you say something bad
You’ll be disowned
And likely, decommissioned
Take that to court, and smoke it
When you’re de-throned
And ripe for demolition