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what's her angle? who cares
i gotta bangle and the bravado
of a cargo of macho hard blokes
with more balls than a play pit
and fart jokes
what else can you expect,
on a diet of nachos,
yeah, they'll brake you
like i got my heart broke
“keep busy, stop sleepin’ in and weepin’.
Start eatin’,
get drunk with the boys when the thoughts creep in”
see ya friends, shoot the shit, brews and tits,
low brow wit with comical slits
of irony like Life of Brian and/or my diary.
What? i'm not crying, it's a joke book
for when i smoke chuff, you slow doof
i don't care that she's no longer there
to stare into my eyes
cause i'm cold as ice
and when i grow old and recline
in this dusty room of mine
with a raw musky smell,
it all begins to gel… this must be hell
silent moans, the sound of dyin' alone,
a mound of bones and a vacant phone
when i get naked i'm accident prone
so i gotta stay put, lest a break a bone
i don't wanna hurt myself, anymore.
my heart's in pieces, on the floor,
jesus, can you hear my call?
i want some pizzas with barbecue sauce,
more to the point,
i've smoked four joints
and everybody wants to point
their little middle fingers sky high
in the direction of my fly eyes
till i cry… cause i'm an oversensitive
kind of guy
my breakfast will be teerios,
served on my pillow
huddled in a puddle
like a weepy armadillo