first you want to rob me of a mother tongue,
then you want an uncle tom's worth
of an english person?
   what's next, chimps with rucksacks?
you're pushing the line, kind anglo!
you're really pushing the ******* barrier!
you think i'll treat my next-door neighbour
like a king? you ******* kidding me?
the **** deserves his: "compliments":
what are these people think they are?
sacred hindu cows?
**** em, a pleb is a pleb, doesn't matter
what country of origin...
do i see your face on a banknote, or nodding
with a crowd? no... well then...
plebs till the field, ****!
why? i know all too well why
monster magnet covered three kingfisher
by donovan...
           so? go **** yourself...
     i didn't want capitalism in my land,
you didn't want capitalistically competitive
economic workers...
  shame on you! you taught your sons nothing!
if i wanted to teach leeches, i'd teach them:
we attune to the hunger.
i don't feel jealous with my neighbour,
i'd just like to beat, the ****, out of him...
   if he owned a bulldog, i'd punch the dog
first, before starting an aim at him...
but that's how it goes: gotta punch
the slobber...
   honest to god i don't remember being
in the last fight since i was 12...
i miss the fighting... i feel: rusty...
  no amount of ******* celibacy
does the trick...
            i just haven't been in fights...
i scratched my head more times than laid
a plum pouch...
          in the years i can remember...
i'd love a ruffle with a fellow man
just as i'd love to have intimate *** with a woman
outside the appeal for prostitutes...
sometimes it comes along, that dog
on a leash: loss of object-object riding
the donkey pleasurable: goof ball and
side-tracking the end result...
       "relationships"...
first i watch the ***** of candidmommy,
and then comparative "literature"
of donovan's vs. monster magnet's
three kingfisher...
            beat ****, esp. if:
by bloodhound gang -
ain't nostriptease if the stripper is crying...
and my neighbour?
   he doesn't own a crown,
he doesn't own an amnesty international
immunity,
         ****, i'm starting to think that
missing fighting is worse than missing ***...
so i started punching myself in the face,
and while wearing sunglasses,
seeing them fall off my visage after a lazy punch...
i know that men can really get worked up
over not having enough ***,
but that's sadistic, playing this game of
****** endeavour with them...
i'm starting to realise that,
   what i really miss?
  it's almost homophilic, in that:
    i miss punching someone...
       i miss being punched,
  i miss punching someone, but not it a sport
affair of competition,
i mean: the rough & tough impromptu...
i miss that more than ***...
i'd love to have a fight with my neighbour...
naked, and the ultimate fetish of such a scenario?
smeared in olive oil, or smeared in
butter...
     like some gag's worth of a gay pride brigade
march parade... the charlie salvador
reenactment type...
oil up ***: foul mouth 'as to speak...
beauty punch that lad into a botox pair
of puckers...
           i swear to god,
i miss having a fight more than i miss having
*** with a woman...
   last kidney pie i ever made was with
kieran o'mahoney...
               in school, before a c.t.d. lesson...
thank **** he's a nightclub bouncer
these days... too the skin-head to
the butcher of scalps: and made a decent
living, looking fat, and ugly... miracle!
        yeah, i know, i have a chili's worth
of tongue waggling...
   i can't say i'm a decent fight,
       let's just say: i'm rusty...
        so i beef up, punching myself in the face
a few times, every few days...
sometimes i manage the lazy grit
with a plum hue on my knuckle...
          sensibility of talking the proof,
after having engraved yourself as a tattoo
on a *****'s ****...
         and: well: the pleasantries
of western woman's freedoms,
and their subsequent harems...
oh believe me: i still have dream-contents
akin to a child...
    i'd still prefer to have a proper fight,
than ******* my favourite **** star;
i'm building up a compendium...
         don't worry, i'm not squirm-ish;
all i have to hide, is an afro's worth of *****,
which i would invite a gardener to sort out,
had i, a regular partner to engage with.