From Lepherchaun:

What’s up little baby? Better put down that bow.

Your “love” ain’t all that, and your aim lets it show.

Too bad for those people who hoped for a kiss,

You spend all day shooting, and boy, do you miss!

Why’s a baby like you gone flying for fun?

Let’s hope that fat diaper does not come undone!

Everyone below would be in for a treat,

“It’s raining!” they’d say, before it hit the street.

Cupid, it’s time you quit flying and toddle.

Wipe your big baby tears and go suck on a bottle.

You’re not a love expert, you’re a mound of baby fat!

You’re lucky your wings even hold you, at that.

I dread when your infant face swoops into town.

Some people hope for love, but you’ll let them down.

Take a break this year, you’re embarrassing to witness!

If a rogue arrow flies, I hope it puts you out of business.

Relationships that crumble are the ones that you assist.

It’s time for some pants, your diaper’s been dissed.

From Cupid:

You’re like a garden gnome if in the head it went insane.

You’re only good for lucky charms, your ankle I will sprain.

You’re mean and green and tiny and the creature I despise.

Search for magic pots of gold, live your life built out of lies.

I dread the day I see your face, I’m certainly no fan.

Mischievous, malicious, you’re a lepre-con man.

I make matches but for you I’m certain love does not exist, 

but I’ll gladly introduce your orange sideburns to my fist.

You oompa loompa ripoff, jobless phony freak.

Chasing ends of rainbows, your desperation reeks.

You’re not lucky with your clover, even though it’s four-leaf.

You play tricks and steal belongings, you manipulative thief.

Who knew something so sinister wore buckled little shoes.

Your top hat makes your height, hate to bear the bad news.

You wear green and run around, I don’t understand the craze.

Your neon orange hair leaves my eyeballs in a daze.

With my magic bow and wings, the battle seems unfair.

I’m the matchmaking cupid, you’re a scary elf nightmare.