Look boys its not a toy, you hit
to hard it,ll swell and it'll  be soar
for a few days for me or you not
to touch.

Yes its hairy like a rain forest
some times in the winter I leave
its coat on as frost bit lips hurt
like me kicking you in the nuts.

Summer comes and then I do
trim, I leave a line nicely shaved,
I leave it there so you know
where to touch, its not a hard
place to find hairless or not. But
my **** is in the same place, so
be gentle if you touch.

You need to stoke the fire, kisses
caresses and words of lust, cos if
its not wet then the fire hasn't been
stoked, fingers need nails cut, as
anything sharp put up will lead
to a knee in your face or nuts. If
you try to put it in dry, It'll hurt
me but split your skin you thinking
I'm on but its you bleeding which
will hurt very much.

Its not your **** bank, it does
take deposits but you don't have
to jack hammer it, use your hand
with **** if you fancy it hard then
play with your hand.

Its a thing of beauty so treat as
such, respect the ****** and do
take care its your wet patch for
you to poke but try hurt it and
my nails will grind your nuts to dust...

Sell your dope.
Sell the last of it
and the first of it.

No, don't rail it tonight,
you know you'll just end up
shooting it tomorrow.

Sell your dope.
Sell it cheap
and sell all of it.

Buy roses,
buy chocolates,
buy gas.

Ask her on a date,
to the movies,
to dinner.

Sell your dope,
and kiss her.
What is more important?

You know what is more important.
Your high will last 4 hours, maybe five.
The feeling of her lips will linger.

The feeling of her lips will linger.
Sell your dope,
fall in love.

I couldn't rush any quicker
Than to taste something
More bitter than your soul.
And swearing on improper nouns
I told myself to never look
Directly at your heart...

I did; you turned to stone.

Think of the best, then think of the worst,
Of where humanity might possibly burst.
Travelling here and travelling away,
Many are so fond, so fond to escape.
One has to admire evolutions work,
From atoms, to monkeys, to men hard at work.

Many conceited, precious or rich,
Though the question of questions is what makes that man rich?
Is it the kiss he was given by his mother that morning,
Or the kiss of the money that paid for his awning?
Usually I think, who gives a ****?
If your house is a shed or for a king made to fit?
Though the sad truth be told, and this is it,
Many do care, many give a ****.
Not for the forests, or people in Africa,
But the reputation the generosity earned them thereafter.

You followed sweet temptation over the edge
into the dark, warm water.
You tried to climb my body to save yourself.
Even once you had been lifted out,
damp and shaking and frightened
you swooped down
on that bloated, abandoned mass
of oatmeal and raisins
and gulped it down with the frantic abandon
of a dog that has just ****** in the face of death.

You say "I'm an open book",
But you're as closed as your eyes.
Trapped inside your sleepless slumber,
It came to me as no surprise.