What can you say
About kids these days
'Cept they ain't got no respect

Walking around
Like a bunch of clowns
Hey punks pull up your pants

I don't really care
To see your underwear
Or any skid marks running up the back

Put on a belt
And if nothing else
It'll hold in all that lazy fat

And what you call music
I'm going to lose it
If I hear any more of that crap

Back in the day
We had people who sang
That didn't sound like a half strangled cat

And the way you cover your skin
With ink from the pen
In what you think are cool tattoos

I wonder what they'll look like
Later in life
When all that skin is hanging loose

All those piercings you've got hanging
Some even ****** dangling
Pretty much match the hole in your head

If you took them out kiddie
I bet the wind through you would whistle Dixie
That's pretty much it "Nuff Said"

Oh mindless beings bow low before my superior art
For I did have a poetic ****
In that rippling tearing noise I detected beauty and artistic poise
Because the **** was I and therefore art
Who of thee could even start
To view the art in a morning ****?
Thou art lesser beings,  an artless mob
Whilst I are a poetic god
Men bow their heads, doff their caps
In the presence of I
Oh Oh Oh
Art in a **** penned by I
Even Shakespeare could not compare with I

'free butlers for everybody'**

yippee!! hooray!! huzzah!!

i would so love,
somebody to follow me
around all day.
doing the mudane and
boring things,
all that daily guff.
to be at my beck and call,
for just about anything at all.

but then,
if there are 'free butlers for all'

would my, butler,
not have a bulter, of his own
to order about from,
his butler throne
and so on and so forth
and if we all had butlers.
would anything, ever,
really get done?

OR, would we all be,
passing ***** laundry
about in a neverending,  
linen chain.
drinking tepid tea from each others ***** tea cups.
polishing silver for some one other than us ...
would i end up,
being a bulter to you.

my god!  

this, idea of

'free butlers for every one.'  

is spiralling,  out of control

this  factotumnal conudrum,
is going to  drive me insane.

JEEVES ! please, please be so good
as, to bring me a calming tisane.

This is one game
I always will choose
to lose.

Being afraid of height
is being afraid to fall.
To die and leave life;
not to return at all.

Being afraid of dark
is really fear of what's within.
Monsters, they say lie,
that **** the greatest of men.

Being afraid of spiders
is afraid of being bit
put that away,
they're not scary a bit.

Being afraid of love
is not knowing what to do:
He wants to tell you how he feels
but he's afraid of losing you.

Fear, in reality,
is not wanting to get hurt
Fear's the one subject
where everyone's an expert.