Of course I do, but you got a lot of gall,
jetting green or yellow or whatever the hell it is,
basically spraying all who are within range,
oh, and will be yet,
yikes, must feel so damn good to be like that.
Ha, you also have this right as well, thanks,
it’s almost like a curse with me in that regard,
sorry I can’t say the same about you though,
okay, I’m not actually sorry,
yeah, you just keep lopping ’em and I’ll return in kind.
Sweet treats lined up along your gooey widget,
dripping over the crystal counter to a marble floor,
thoroughly sticking those hungry from the dire streets,
with eyes wide so you can see their lack of furniture.
Hell, we all had that pegged from your very beginning,
teeth cracked because of the constant jawbreaking,
sucking on this shriveled thumb of yours to a nub,
uh, compared to everyone else, that is,
please, it’s still early on my end before I need to be.
Nah, I sincerely don’t think so out of what I’ve gathered,
we’re just not dance partners, we ain’t even able to dance,
alone is much worse, but it doesn’t have to remain that way,
er, at least not for you, to be for sure,
relax, it wasn’t at all meant as any sort of a compliment.
Barely draped across your fossilized slab on exhibit,
holding back the snickers of jaunty disapproval,
to glance down where the magic has decidedly ended,
nobody feeling a need for some apology or sympathy.
Sharwrong's Song 