4 who pluck off the leaves on a bush,the root of the broom—a shrub is their food.
5 People banish them from society,shout at them as if to a thief;
6 so they live in scary ravines,holes in the ground and rocks.
7 Among shrubs, they make sounds like donkeys;they are huddled together under a bush,
8 children of fools and the nameless,whipped out of the land.
9 And now I’m their song;I’m their cliché!
10 They detest me, keep their distance,don’t withhold spit from my face.