In the green pasture I couldn't stop doing healthful deep-knee bends
with cyanical-blue deep sea friends or uric-yellow sheep *** friends
who'll attend 6 ewe-cross-human *** fairs pushing 32 ******* trends
“There's something hateful about you,” the proctologist said. “But I
just can't lay a finger on it with the pig blood you've bloodily bled.”
“There are 15 traits swinish about you,” the **** doctor said. “But I
can't put a finger on 1 with the piggish blood you've bloodily bled.”
F-off worthless U.N. eaters! My fat hogs-to-market are muddily fed
before blowin' their brains out rendering 'em big time groggily dead
& chilled to be, after purgatory, down the primrose path foggily led
as saturated dirges, under bridges where bums ****, are soggily read
to mug inquisitive ***** lion-tamers of Afrocentrical inventiveness
without deying the endless toil of food-stamp-getting relentlessness
Weird is wired to borrowed dots once dotters abandon plotted plots
for the ******-bad equity of besotted day bed county jail-issued cots