i call my ambition, sergeant giggs... don't ask; i also call my left foot lady cantona, it's just regarding the manchester united dream team from the mid 90s.*

oi! oi! that strange perfume in my garden
has come back!
i don't like it! i know i'm growing garlic
and rosemary & mint & jasmine in it,
but i'm not liking the eerie honey ****
of it, that i might liken to female genitals,
no!
   *******!
                  get these gnats away from me!
feed em to the bankers!
       point being, if i were ever an islamic
martyr, and i'd get to the "sacred" gardens,
much akin to the hanging gardens of babylon
and i'd be like...
     wait a minute, i didn't ask for solomon's
gym routine, i didn't ask for *******
gym membership scheme!
   i said, i said that i wanted 72 watermelons!
who said that 72 virgins is a reward?
where are my 72 watermelons?!
i want my ******* 72 watermelons!
   1 woman is enough! enough as in:
one too much!
   yes, i know nature it cruel, and it proved
that by providing more women than men,
and that when an ****** hits their egos
and shatters them all hell breaks loose...
no! i didn't sign up for a gym membership!
i want my 72 watermelons!
     take your virgins and shove them
into fairy-airy stories, or up my ***!
        how could 72 virgins ever be so appealing
as to take the lives of others?
   i asked for heaven, not a gym membership...
idiots are going to be hating the notion
after a few hours:
well... gotta **** 'em all...
otherwise the ones not ******, will go straight
to king solomon, with his permanent
****** **** fusion...
   just give me the 72 watermelons and ****
off with your "promises"...
      i wasn't promised **** all upon
birth in this world,
   but the promises of 72 virgins in the "next" world
seems more like a curse, than honey-dew;
i'd rather worm through
   a library of books worth-the-reading,
than a bunch of girls: "worth-the-****";
well yeah, "the" oops;
muslims: monkey mentality, even after death;
me? i was imagining it as:
                       a brain in a pickle jar;
then again, i'd love to chat with 72 prostitutes,
gone down the train ride of waggle waggle...
plus the drinking helps...
   less gym orientation mind you:
the already exhausted ***** 'elp a 'ittle.