If you can keep your fucking head when all about you
Are motherfucking losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all suckers doubt you,
And make no allowance for their dickheaded doubting too;
If you can bleeding wait and not be pissed out by waiting,
Or being lied about, lie bigger, higher, stronger,
Or being hated, teach those cunts to hate you even more,
Bitch you can't look too good, nor talk too smart:
If you can fucking dream—and make tons of money selling dreams;
If you can bloody think—and an beat the competition blue;
If you can claims credit for all Triumph
and make some cunt take explain Disaster
And absolutely don't treat them just the same;
If you can hear the frikkin’ truth you’ve spoken
And fart a bigger faff to cover your ass,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And find out the guy who broke 'em and bust him his balls:
If you can make one fuckin’ heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one shitty turn of pitch-and-toss,
And win bigger, and watch the losers scream
And join the 1% before the cops get there;
If you can force your bloody heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your frikkin’ turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is effin’ nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Goddamn!
If you can talk with bloomin’ crowds and pocket their pennies,
Or walk with Kings (mothafuckas, all of ‘em) —and touch their dollars too,
If neither foes (those bastards) nor loving friends (oh yeah) can hurt you,
If all sluts line up to sleep with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute (bitch please)
With sixty seconds’ worth of fuckin’ money made,
Yours is the Earth and every fagging thing that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a rich, rich Man, my son!
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