I drive my tank into town,
but no one is in sight.
I fire warning shots above,
But nobody's there to fight.
I was about to leave the server,
when I heard a sound so odd,
I see a flying Tellatubby,
some guy's using a mod.

I really like money, is that a shame?
If you don’t have money, is your boss to blame?
I want to keep my dollars,
I got bills to pay,
Less taxes, more money,
Hip Hip Hooray!

I know a guy,
he is a friend.
Whom the cops often have to,
apprehend.
He used to do
some crazy ****.
But now he doesn't do most of it.
I know you are thinking,
who is this man.
He is a friend who drives a van.
Although not to pick up kids with treats,
he uses his ride to satisfy his needs.
Which includes dolphin collecting,
live or dead,
he's always selecting.
Vaping real hard
every single day,
is how he spends,
his hard worked pay.
His job is selling,
illegal pelts
of rare albino beavers.
He sets up traps
and waits in the bushes
with an over sized cleaver.
Stalking and waiting for the perfect catch,
he watches the ****** closely.
And right as it comes into reach,
he slits the baby's throat boldly. (baby ****** not a real baby.)
My friend makes his way to the flee market,
where he sells the pelts.
He greets his customers happily,
as the beavers hang from his belt.
Blood on his hands and pride in his eyes,
he knows he's got a great prize.
The money rolls in,
and he know it is true,
that night he will party
until his lungs are blue,
(due to the fat rips he'll be vaping)
On the weekends when he's not working,
he hops into his van,
and drives to the border,
to make sure no illegals are lurking.
Loving his country with deep passion,
my friend protects us,
with the guns he has stashed in. (his van.)
After his duty is fulfilled,
he spends the rest of his time,
all alone,
drinking gallons
of acetone.
Then in the big city
he streaks for hours,
with bags of broken glass,
that he likes to devour.
I totally agree,
my friend is insane,
and on his family,
his acts cause great pain.
Although,
he treats his slaves
with a lot of respect,
and he gives porridge to the
needy and other rejects.
He's better than me,
because I like to suffocate,
small injured birds.
And barge into restaurants,
to steal cheese curds.
But my friend is the best,
friend he can be,
as I described in this poem,
that you can see.
Unless you are blind or stupid,
or don't have anyone to read you this,
just know that my friend,
has your children in his shed,
and they'll sadly be missed.

You wonder why my name is spaghetti,
It's sounds funny to you.
Not quite a long story,
But it's all very true.
Our tale begins,
When I was quite young,
Right when spring,
had just sprung.
Living with my aunt,
At the age of two,
She brought me to preschool,
In her liberal Subaru.
My parents left me,
If you were curious.
They went off to help illegal-aliens,
which made me quite furious.
Anyway, when I got to my class,
We did a bunch of useless work,
While the teacher sat fat on her ***.
After reading some ****,
called Cat in the Hat,
we all went for lunch,
to eat some crap.
All was going well,
In that brick-enclosed hell,
but all went wrong with a single song.
Some ****** turned on,
Some pop music,
We all got mad,
At that stupid *****.
I had enough already,
Since my parents had left me,
And I was stuck with a woman,
Who voted for Hillary.
So I got out of my seat,
And walked right to the kid,
Took my lunch out of my bag,
And opened the lid.
Inside held the spaghetti,
That I was planning to eat.
I grasped it in my hand,
And planted my feet.
I grabbed the ***'s neck,
shoved the spaghetti down his throat,
And before I knew it,
He started to choke.
Through his espohogus,
very far down,
The blood gushed out of his mouth,
And onto the ground.
The kid's eyes rolled back,
into his head,
until they were white,
I knew he was dead.
Even though it was over,
I continued to go,
And throw his body,
Out the nearest window.
My classmates watched in horror,
as the body fell down,
Into the road,
without making a sound.
Then in the street a dump truck went by,
Running over the body,
And my classmates started to cry.
They will never forget that wonderful day.
"He killed a kid with spaghetti!"
They all started to say.

Once I saw a monkey man,
driving down my street in his monkey van,
kids tried to run away,
but monkey ran,
he brought the children to his monkey land.
If they got out of line,
with monkey man,
they'd get a slap,
from the back of his hand.
The favorite nut of monkey man,
was the pecan,
he loved pecans,
the monkey man,
he eats as manys as he cans.
Unlimited lifespan,
has the monkey man,
currently lives in Iran.
Likes to read comics,
batman,
superman,
while getting,
a monkey tan.
Been around,
since the caveman,
had the monkey man.
Used to be a doorman,
had monkey man.
Wanted to be an anchorman,
but there was a monkey ban.
Not a woman.
Not a man.
M o n k e y    M a n .

Erasers, they erase words on paper,
I'm a smoker not a vaper,
saw a bug,
so i sprayed her,
while writing a story of a caper.
Writing words,
made a mistake.
The eraser erases the mistake.
Now the mistake is gone,
time to mow the lawn.
The lawn is green,
which is the grass.
Upon my riding mower,
I place my fat ***.
I then realize that I should go to a gym.
Maybe even go for a swim.
Or visit my friend Jim.
I heard he broke a limb.
I think I will go and visit him.
I hop in my car,
a Dodge Monaco Sedan,
cause I am a really big Blues Brothers fan.
Arrived at Jim's house,
hope I'm not too late,
I made a stop for a burger,
which I then ate.
I ringed the doorbell,
the door opens up,
Jim walks out,
and I hear a "Pop!".
Jim is dead,
he lays on the ground,
I see a bullet shell,
a .45 ACP round.
I soon realized,
my mistake,
for that's the same ammunition,
that my gun takes.
I look down at my hand,
and see my 1911,
I killed Jim,
and sent him to heaven.
I walked home that very day,
underneath the skyscrapers,
Erasers erase words on paper.

School is child labor.
illegal, it is.
Teachers pay off the cops
to torture us kids.
The government runs school,
I hate them with passion,
I show my responses
in unspeakable fashion.
School's like China,
communism.
When I hear the bell for homeroom,
Satan has risen.
We live here and thrive,
in jail cells of sadness,
Please o' Lord!
End all this madness!

The sun is scary.
It follows me everywhere.
Anytime I look up,
it's always there...

yep.