Beneath the bull run’s golden blaze, Plebbit stands in quieter days. No wild pumps, no fleeting fame, But Esteban builds—not for the game. Like Noah crafting the Ark from dust, He works with Rinse and Tom in trust. With every key, with every line, They forge a platform beyond time. Champ scribbles riddles, cryptic and sly, While GGWP sighs, “Another over, why?” Apu moans, “The logo’s still trash,” Yet the spirit of Plebbits refuses to crash. Bog may scam, and Hellena might jest, But the heart of this project beats in the best. The Plebbitor grins, the dreamers persist, Against all odds, Plebbit exists. Let the bulls charge, let the tokens spin, We’re not chasing the short-term win. Our purpose is solid, our mission is clear, Freedom and truth—no censorship here. So hold your Plebs, keep the faith strong, Our time will come, it won’t be long. Esteban’s Ark sails through the flood, With hope and fire in every Pleb’s blood. A platform for all, a home for the free, Plebbit will rise; just wait and see