“ChatGPT and Flux,” you whine and cry,
Yet can’t prompt for shit, no matter how you try.
Bad at AI? Bro, at least I play—
You’re on the bench, yelling “NO WAY!”

If I’m bad at this, then what are you?
A bitter fan with nothing to do.
You don’t create, you just deflate—
Which makes you great… at second place.

One style, two styles—hell, maybe ten,
Still can’t stop watching? Say when.
You whine, you beg, you foam with hate—
Yet still refresh to see what I create.