my codpiece has mobbed the boundaries of good taste
and pickled the tail on the mule of my magnificent waste
and i've coughed up a dime of your tripe in my damage
so leave me the methadone  and please please please
manage.

here. hand This to your ludicrous drool.
pool the view from your ***
into the solid miasma
of your shameful
truth.

give back the cancerous hustle
of our demented clutch !
and much be the flowers
that curse
you

for lying, waaaaaaay to ******* much.