Oh, that one?

The trends pass him by
but he doesn't bat an eye;
Like a dead pig in his sty,
he's scared to step outside
And walks along the sides
the shame he calls his stride.
He gets stuck around the bends,
the one with no real friends
Refuses to make amends.
His voice shakes, he's not bold
He sweats a sweat so cold
And he does not what he's told.
His ends fight hard to meet
He'll sweep you off your feet
with lies bittersweet
that he soaks in finest wines
and sugars that sound divine,
The self righteous swine. 
He's fickle, he's a shame
And he always tends to blame
He's different, still the same. 
One of phony creepy men,
a treacherous scheming hen
And you never know when
He'll fiendishly change
Not dexterous, but deranged
Unpredictable and strange.
A lying, verbose tongue
Of a villain unsung;
On his blunders he is hung.
A fool to play with dice, 
A coward, but thinks otherwise
A junkie, a stale surprise.
Too twisted in his ways
He means not what he says
and he says not what he prays. 
A banal, boorish guy,
Like a needle in the eye,
You'd better leave him die.