On IRC there is a room
A sanctuary quiet and calm,
For those who can't bear newbies crass
to keep their egos safe from harm.

I entered it with cautious step
I was rebuffed with sharp abuse
I merely wished to talk to Kate
And now I've just been called obtuse!

And so switch on flamethrower mode
It seems that's what you need in there
And that's hash-foad; yes, that's hash-foad
Where ranty people all unload.

So if the silence frightens you
on hash-linc, -party, -love or -test,
Then come to hash-foad, never dull,
Where tact is oft allowed to rest.

And so whip out that cattle goad
and prod the inmates to extremes
Oh, that's hash-foad; yes, that's hash-foad
Where naught but bile has ever flowed.

So I would choose to steer well clear
And pick a safer, calmer road;
though I may gaze, and laugh, and learn
I think I'll stay out of hash-foad.

And that's hash-foad, and that's hash-foad,
and this the ending of my ode.