When Tom realized his initials were the same
As tutti-frutti, moldy regurgitation,
He chose Lord Voldemort to be his name
And set out to create an evil nation.
Then he met a little man named Pete
Who agreed out of fear to be his spy.
And so the all-powerful Dark Lord met defeat
By a baby who sat in his crib and cried.
After years of running away to hide
He returened and was defeated yet again.
And even with Death Eaters by his side
He still lost to Harry Potter and his friends.
It seems the Dark Lord is indeed a wimp.
And with no nose or hair, he's uglier than a chimp.

Across your face the skin of palest white
Stretches where a nose instead should be.
You tell me that you lost your nose the night
That you made your Horcrux number three.
When folks laugh at your pitiful nostril holes
You blame it on Horcruxes to look tough.
So does your nose contain part of your soul
Or did you just think it's cool to cut it off?
Oh, poor, poor, Voldie-poo, I feel your pain!
When thinking of your noselessness, I cry!
You can't wear reading glasses; what a shame!
Not even shades to protect your delicate eyes!
How does poor Voldy lead a noseless life?
It's no wonder you don't have a wife.

Detergent, action figure, bubble gum
A manufacterer of children's toys,
A Muggle magician, providing lots of fun
With card tricks done for little girls and boys.
These are the things that Marvolo can be,
Quite obviously not the middle name
Of the Dark Lord of hate and misery.
As a villain, you bring your story shame.
With the name you've chosen, I'm impressed,
For Voldemort has come to equal fear.
But you still failed the secret identity test;
Your true name's been a common fact for years.
With the name your mother gave to you,
I think you're better off with Voldy-poo.

His hair is dripping, weeping tears of grease
For cold neglect; it's not been washed in years.
Apart from duckies, bunnies, and John Cleese,
You'll find shampoo among his greatest fears.
How well do select the ones you trust?
You claim you can read minds. While this is true,
For this man, Occlumency is a must.
If he could fool the one you fear, then you
Compared to him must be a piece of cake.
You're not just stupid, Voldy; you're absurd!
You have a filthy slimeball in your wake,
And I mean that in every sense of the word.
On good Death Eaters, you are running low.
You should have given up a long time ago.

Pilots tell of a blinding death-white flash
Their vision lost, they swerve, they crash, they’re dead.
Through bulb or mirror this light does not pass
But instead, reflects off of your gleaming head.
You claim this sinister use as your intent
But we both know that this was never so
For I remember all your hours spent
With comb and mirror, smiling and groaning “Oh!”
The pills and creams such fruitless efforts bear,
The jars of Rogaine pile upon the floor
And poor, poor Voldemort, bereft of hair
Cries for the silky curls he’ll see no more
Your locks have moved on to a better place
And now I laugh into your hairless face.

The good-and-evil principle is clear
In every fantasy I've ever read:
The uber-lovely hero, brave and pure
Does triumph while the villain ends up dead.
The story may, of course, be modified
By things like Quidditch, socks, and lack of nose,
But still, 'twas fantasy you were inside
And any fool can tell you how that goes.
Lord Moldy Shorts lays cold upon the ground
And all because he never had a heart.
Had he the sense to take a look around,
He could have stopped this coming from the start,
Moronic, really, thinking you could win;
The villain always loses in the end.