Don’t panic
We’ve got the hizy-hizzy heazy
Flushing down these knees
Lay it low
Like a mother-fucking flow
And come
With me
A while
Now the story here
Is about a lout
A grease so green
A log so dense
A steam to cream
The dogs always howl
The moon always cries
The birds and the bees
Are all lost in the trees
You see, the grease is a man
That scares all the dimes
A long overdue
21 gun salute
An ulcer in my throat
A never ending torrent
Dead grass wilting my boat
But I’m an undercover agent
A toonie-two balcony
Who takes the first initiative
To catch the best of them
So I’ve found the skeezy
With my mother-fucking prerogative
I built a nice and cozy
6 foot comforter
An uncles intelligence
And my pure brilliance
To take this fucker
This leach of an innocent
To that: a rat
To nibble on the little
Toes of
The mother-fucking rest of him
The lout, the host
Is in the grave.
