No matter how many times you flush,
the water swirls, a hopeful purge,
but someone’s always waiting, pants down,
ready to defile your porcelain peace
they squat like destiny, unshaken,
with a smirk and a stomach full of bad decisions.

You can pray for clean pipes,
but the world is a septic tank,
and everyone is just waiting their turn.

It’s better to be ******* than ****** on,
because rain might cleanse, but golden showers burn.
Respect? A myth. Decency? A joke.
They’ll step on your back, unzip,
and let loose a monologue of steaming disrespect.
You call it betrayal, they call it nature.
You wanted a handshake, they gave you a stain.
But hey, at least it was warm.

Why turn the other cheek
when you can uppercut life right in the ****?
Justice is a myth in a rigged casino,
but a fist to the groin is poetry in motion.
They tell you to be the bigger person,
but the bigger person gets stepped on.
So why wait for karma
when your knuckles can write the prophecy?

We search for truth,
digging through the filth, hoping for gold.
But some things are clearer than scripture:
Everyone’s full of ****.
The world is a never-ending restroom.
And no matter how hard you try,
you can never lock the door.
These are just some unfortunate truths.