Illicit Poetry

You can call me doom,

Boom, boom in the banana room.

What you know about being funny,

Have you eaten bunny?

Have you seen that sleazy horse?

I doubt it, it’s ancient Norse.

But don’t worry about these things,

I can write ‘em up like Charlie Sheen,

Spinnin’ off a Sheenus,

That’s what they call you now a days, ignoramus.

But don’t let that get to your head,

You’re better off laying low inside your trailer eating bread.

These wicked thoughts often come around,

Making noises like those damn silly clowns.

Oh, you know them well,

Those friends of yours you tattletale.

And when the feces hits the fan,

You’ll be sporting the face tan.

Like a moose on the loose, you’re a recluse,

Dancing the Congo cause you know no better,

But don’t undermine it and let it fetter.

Besides, it’s not like they like you,

As a matter of fact they’re the ones you commit suicide to;

Mentally, because you’re scared, down tempo and ill prepared,

But still full of game like that notorious boys that are lame,

Yeah, the ones you hang around with, they’re all the same.

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