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I am, dehorned, by, ego-driven, |
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Evil women, who, disturb , my peaceful living, |
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Even though, I counted, her, every eye flutter, |
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My confident, pimp game, is reduced, to a shy mutter, |
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Beautiful, specimen, in, a swim suit |
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Every dude, wants her to, play, the skin flute, |
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We dated, and she acted, like she was staring, in a film shoot, |
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How bout a peck? A kiss? A slurp? Or something, |
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But she taunts me, being raunchy, and sticks out, her tongue ring, |
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I forgot her, eye color, but i tried to, dry hump her, |
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Torturing me, gives her, personal, thrills, don't forget to take, birth control, pills |
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Seeing her, when your, dirty, itchy, bed sheets, they'll be seen, corky, by the sex geeks, |
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At least, I'm still loved, by all, record players |
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But a sprinkle, of sawdust, from salt, and pepper shakers, |
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Cuz its, over, flowing, toliets, in my heart, |
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And I bumped my head, on my, failed relationship pie chart |
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You'll also wanna share, a personal pan pizza , |
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When aside, a personal band leader, |
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The dirty thought makes you recoil, |
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And you wish a surgeon, would remove my gland, with tweezers, |
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But there's no use, the very notion urges you to hump the disk changer |
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Ha, I should come with a disclaimer, |
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May cause emotional tabid and suspenseful cliff hangers, |
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I mean really, if I could only kiss strangers, |
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I know my, breath never hits the pilot light, |
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I'm just a silent sight, |
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Loser! Wimp! Are some, of the pet names, |
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She belittles me, then rewards me, |
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I'm a boy toy, on a test range, |
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You were sensitive, lush, |
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When you broke me off, you gave me correct change |
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You weird and crazy, bearded lady, |
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Who's condemned me, to endless hours of soft porn, |
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Meeting her in traffic, I'm resorting to honk horns, |
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I go into movies all by myself and climb into a tub of pop corn, |
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She joined the screen actors guild, |
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If she won't fill the dream catcher, I will, |
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Frolicking in the green pastures fields, |
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I took my love song a did a remastered reel, |
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I'm a guinea pig in hamster wheels, |
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I bought an airplane ticket, that goes exactly to where, |
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My court orders randomly and I die with every cold breath of air |
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And every combed hair, resonates how much this girl does care, |
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What a lousy place for a smiley face, |
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On your head? On the front of your mind? |
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It should be on your cunt or behind, |
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Because that's the only place i found any kind of warm sentiment |
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Some how i weaved the myth |
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Of a decent person around your good looks, |
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But you've got the sense of a guy cook book. |
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And you treat dinner dates, |
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Like ****ing table tennis, |
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Your ****ing labels endless, |
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And leads to a corridor, |
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And you've got a playful fetish, |
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Of having your anal crevice, |
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Rammed in by a four door sedan Full of, football players... |
