Here come the haters right on time, running to the comments to complain about my rhyme.

Here come the haters right on time, running to the comments to complain about my rhyme. You say that I'm stupid, you say I'm a clown, but every time I post, you're the first one hanging around. You type with your fingers, you hide behind a screen, pretending you're the toughest person anyone has seen. You throw your little insults, you think you're so slick, but your biggest accomplishment is learning how to click. You call me a loser, you call me a fool, but you're acting like a toddler who got kicked out of school. You say that I'm boring, you say that I'm bad, yet missing one of my videos would probably make you sad. You think you're insulting me, you think that I care, but I'm laughing so hard I'm falling off my chair. You write me a paragraph, you write me a book, all because my little rhyme made you stop and look. You say I'm not funny, you say I'm not bright, then why are you watching me every single night? You think you're important, you think you're a star, but your biggest stage is the comment section by far. You call yourself a critic, now isn't that grand? A keyboard comedian with a phone in your hand. Your mouth is full of wisdom or so you believe, but the smartest thing you could do is learn how to leave. You tell me to stop, you tell me to quit, but here's a little secret, I don't give a bit. You can scream, you can shout, you can throw a little fit, but I'm still making rhymes while you sit there typing it. So go ahead, get angry, let your fingers fly, write another nasty comment and tell me why. And if this rhyme offended you, don't pretend it ain't true, because the loudest little hater in the comments might be you.