A sad state of affairs.
A near travesty!
A wound to the egos
of the male company.

All of Isola,
soon will lay bare,
And the boys will all wither,
'neath a females stern stare!

Run to the hills!
Take to the trees!
Hide in the caves!
Or underneath leaves!

They'll haunt you and hunt you!
They show no mercy!
They want all the chocolate,
in the Secret City!