Hey Mr. Tambourine Man,
Dya know your name,
Is being used by family wrecking whores?
To postulate that they they’re smart,
To showcase they have a grand plan,
Perhaps for the greater good,
Perhaps, to vet more phalluses,
But I don’t think it will take,
A weatherman to tell,
Which way their pussies are blown.
If I were a man,
I’d want to dick around too.
But you know what I’d do?
I’d train my brain and my dick,
To pretend that one vagina,
Was as many as I want.
So I don’t hurt that one,
Heart and brain that agreed,
To go through shitstorms with me.
This morning, as I had my pretentious coffee,
I rifled through a pretentious magazine,
That came with the unpretentious papers.
Saw an advert for a store selling armchairs,
Their tagline was “Inspired by a dream”;
Amused, I wondered what furniture I’d churn,
If it were to be inspired by my latest dream,
A double homicide, a slasher on the lose,
With the knife dripping fresh blood,
Being chased by hungry hungry hippos.
Freud and Neitzsche, can you hear me?
Why do I always have red on my mind?
Yoga and Capoeira, Pilates and Jogging,
In Under Armour and no underpants,
Nothing brings more peace and joy,
Like dreaming of steel knife in windpipes.
I asked my daughter,
What dya want to be,
When you are a big girl?
Her answer made me
Want to dig my own grave,
On a stolen plot somewhere,
And jump in, without a tank
Of Oxygen or Oxycodone.
What an oxymoron!
I didn’t even want the grave marked,
For she said she wants to be a “socialite”.
“I am God”, said an asswipe.
Blew his horns, sounded from a pipe.
All you bloody did was see a shrink,
Who helped you get outside of hell’s brink.
Like a Jungle-man beating his chest,
You proclaim that you are the best.
You can walk on water,
Do things like in the gutter.
Make wine out of pee-pee,
Glamorous gold shit-shit.
Fucking whores on a schoolnight,
I’mma choke your windpipe.
Don’t mess with me, dickhead,
Might light fire to your fucking bed.
Phoney baloney bastards,
A match made in hell,
Selling shit like Starbucks.
If I didn’t know, I couldn’t tell.
All bling-bling without a ting,
All ting-ting without warning.
Fuck you to damnation, you toad slime.
I’mma gonna curse you till it’s my time.
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