I wish I held a microphone
every time I went to speak
each person would be forced to listen
and shut their ******* beak
This may sound harsh
it might offend your features
but I'm standing
knee-deep in a marsh
surrounded by brain-dead zombie creatures
These people are dull
ignorant or crazed
and deciding if they like gooseflesh
grilled stuffed or brazed
These words are a knife
and with them I will cut
a line on their throat,
a hole in their gut
there's only two ways
to get out of this rut
The other way I know
to make them scatter like rain
is to open this heart
and show them this pain
These words may be putrid
they may offset your senses
but ooze fills my shoes
my legs are cemented in fluid
and I'm reaching out for fences
praying to gods both demented and Druid
I wish I held a microphone
every time I went to speak
but my voice is worn out gravel
I'm stuck up ****'s creek
without a paddle.