Friday, December 12, 2008

Sometimes you cannot score a root.

I said, in no uncertain terms, that I wanted his sex,
How can you be that polite about matters such (letter Fedex?),
Yes I panted and his keen, bespectacled eye ran over nouns,
Pump it, suck it, bend me over, much they frowns.

What do you do when all you want is sleaze and sin?
Rip the sh*t out of your psalms and line the bins,
I'm sorry and sorry and contrite but I can't go on,
'til Mister kiss does kiss my kiss and sighs Tuscon...

The morality of it: I was weeping still over the loss,
The loss of my Ma and Pa and breaking the ming vase heart,
He was warm and comforting and loving and ... well nice,
Not being perverse and keeping tones indicted vice.

O.K., I float .... I watched the cowboy jokes get busy so,
But I loved him purely and was natural to be J's Ho,
I just wanted to hold the F*cker for sh*ts sake, love 'im!

I saw the 2 x 666 in the contact numbers and laughed, pure devilry?
A bit of a Virgo wink and gayed me up shadowed out to chivalry?
He had a wife Jokester, I didn't mean to be this damn sold my pal,
F*ggot, Pooft*h, Fairy, Homo ............ GO TO HELL!!!!!

Hate the B*stard .... but never lose your mojo!
(Dedicated to all them who asked the question ... and to all them who did not ...)

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