My Pentecostal terror of the ever-changing tide,
Tells volumes of the reasons why I feel the need to hide,
The adoration that we share, it presently means bupkis,
‘Cause underneath my underwear, a shriveled worm produces,
The “milk of life” my teachers taught, that should never be wasted,
So here I sit, just simmering, in my own fetid juices,
But I really think we share something; I’d wager we could do this,
I’d even leave my easy chair
To prove that I’m not worthless,
A shower would be at the top of
My list’s important changes,
Wear some new clothes,
Hell, brush those teeth!
So you would not feel wasted,
Why, I would even leave the house,
If you’d make it worthwhile…
You know, I feel a ton of shame, for how I have been living,
A suck-off might help my self-esteem,
And you seem prone to giving.


The problem with your attitude is the attitude you have,
Your big, white, fucking pickup truck,
Is big and white and sad,
The whole world knows you compensate,
For what you wish you had,
But the world is wide, and lacks insight:
Your dick’s of soup can size,
And second only to your truck,
It truly is your prize,
But having a giant dick doesn’t mean shit when you just came in your underwear, does it?
No, I didn’t think so.