The Hipster (with MANY apologies to Chaucer, and a few to Jon D)

The Hipster lives downtown
Above a store where music is found
He plays his guitar to spread his word
He wants nothing more than to be heard

Wearing corduroy coat, capris and a beard
He frequents dive bars and drinks micro brewed mead
To talk about the latest Indie band
And teach you as much as he can

Not that you need or want to know
But he'll tell you anyway just to show
You don't know about what you speak
His pretentiousness cannot be beat

He can't hold his liquor
But will tell what drink is better
His band doesn't want him
But he says he's just too good for them

Years of formal education
Yet his lack of knowledge is a frustration
He is blind to this however
And cannot be corrected, ever

Seeing himself as Kerouac
He'll snap is fingers instead of clap
To prove to you that he is cool
When actually he plays the fool

They say ignorance is bliss
And with that I must insist
The Hipster is content
Believing he's so important