"vey" poems
Tentacles with impressive girth
From space, rain down to Earth
In furious flurry, birthing
A new reign of terror
Oy vey! Scream the globalist elite
Suspended in animation
As throbbing veins,
Snares, entangling
Penetrate their every orifice
Nonconsensually
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
<>
for the early morning teach
<>
she's young, beautiful and thinks her life is cursed,
in the past, subject of some of my poems, her health to nurse,
yet, as is normative, you fall into & out of a well of touch,
until you accidentally once again path cross,
she provides a precision mathematical status update
"i'm fairly certain things are like at least 38% worse."
it is 1:38AM for you,
the not unnoticed ironic minute and hour
when the night ether has prematurely worn off,
rising time close but not nearly close enough,
a dark dose of a sleeping nurse's aide seems inappropriate,
and TV reruns seem like an insult to your brain
instead you turn on some belle string musique,
a Grande Messe des Morts,
a chorus,
singing a high mass for the dead,
while opening all your various email luggage and baggage,
smiling as you read a poetess's message of
laughter behind tears
"i'm fairly certain things are like at least 38% worse."
and Mississippi ******
your uncontrollable mixed drink of her emotional
Grenada grenade cocktail,
flavored with musique, paintings, and words and a nearby beloved's
gentling sleep sounds,
has you writing your own protest poem,
your very own,
oy vey, grande messe,
about lives that were supposed to be
pictures of perfect artistry
and for but a word or two,
instead, a painting of a life that got hung upside down,
and indeed,
leaving a grand mess and no one to help clean up
alternatively weeping, laughing as you are thinking,
smiling recall
Laurel and Hardy's summary definition
of living a life's of ill begotten, misventured adventures:
"Well, here's another nice mess you've gotten me into !"
but 38% worse?
not an even-steven rounded up 40%,
should I write you only 38% of a poem, teach?
or more accurately, more mathematically,
138% of what was writ before?
and you recall your older, prior words
about the love hate affair between
you poet,
and the beauty of written brevity
(her style)
and you give her this then,
this rambling, scrambled, attention paid notification,
word attentiveness, a summary of your readings
of her cheddar sharp and honey mustard sweet retorts of
pained poetry,
it is insufficiently but perfectly sufficient,
a summarizing phrase that opens
and yet
briefly encapsulates all that
you are feeling for her
"thinking of you"
or the 38% larger version thereof -
***"Well, here's another 38% more
nice poetic mess
you've gotten me into!"***
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 5:01 PM UTC
Already the month
of August 2018,
May never become
a je June'm
(Forget-me-not)
time of year,
especially for nouveau
homeless and,
penniless residents,
(now more like worrier),
who reside in the
(burnt to a crisp)
Golden State where,
towering uncontrollable
wild fire infernos veer
really did tax mental,
physical, and spiritual
oye vey iz mare (to
the bajillion power
of Google Plex) their
heirlooms, mementos,
and trappings of
das kapital lifestyle
went up in smoke,
which tragedy didst seer
the eyes (yes, iz traumatic,
but also the air)
looms with toxic
particulate matter,
though concerned former
propertied owners
(now ashen faced)
as utter grief doth rear
a scorched (bumping) ugly head,
yet the onset of Autumn,
(and the main
purport of this poem)
(oh my dog, that twill be
in approximately three weeks,
when Eastern Orthodox Church
denotes beginning of ecclesiastical
annum mull house
for straight or queer
(these times opening
doors to LGBT, or GLBT
(an initialism that
stands for lesbian,
gay, bisexual, and transgender),
nonetheless history
replete with app pear
chock full of factoids such as:
September (Latin septem,
"seven") with near
exhaustive steeped in
pagan glory of antiquity.
Ancient Roman observances
for September include:
Ludi Romani, originally celebrated
September 12 - September 14,
later extended to
September 5 to September 19.
In 1st century BC, an extra day added
in honor of deified
Julius Caesar on 4 September.
Epulum Jovis held: September 13.
Ludi Triumphales held: September 18–22.
Septimontium celebrated September, and
December 11 on later calendars
September called "harvest month"
in Charlemagne's calendar.
September corresponds partly to
Fructidor and partly to Vendémiaire
of first French republic.
On Usenet, September 1993
(Eternal September) never ended.
September called Herbstmonat,
harvest month, in Switzerland.
The Anglo-Saxons called
month Gerstmonath,
barley month, that crop
then usually harvested.
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 5:00 PM UTC
What happens
____ to space______
between us
This is the
human race
Ah, Vey?
Just pray
Overly smitten
But not seeing
clearly picture-prey
He or she runs!!
Little darlings
here comes the sun*
The lime doing the time
Falling trees of coconut
Feeling- overloved
Deviant artist
splat coconut milk
No Security Cat
comfort box
So out of recession
Killer fox______
Chocolatey coconut
Cleanse my mind detox
Almond Joy concession
Rise up Face Botox
He cannot
read you
Haywire always
wired up his words
Hurried Hazelnut
coffee if you mind
Over-sugared
Increased brain
functions bitter rinds
So commercialized
The Cocoa Puffs
Going bananas
monkey ***
Lexie Vamp Vex
Mr. Ed overload
of Oz colors baboon
Going up Air Balloon
So many airheads
The Rainforest
GQ he's gone IQ
((Quarterly Neck of the woods))
Not orderly Outback
Steakhouse
Dinosaurs
******
Vicarious
No shortcut
The nervous system
The fast have a drink
furious
Cracking a coconut
Her Safe______**
6-6-6 combinations
Could crack her
Coconut oil neck her
City Girl call her
Intellectual brain
Singing
Gene Kelly
umbrella
Raining coconuts
(On Overload)
Strawberry Fields
This will be short
Yeah right forever
shortcake, not any sort
The trend of
coconut
Nearer because
of you I am
further
She was the
Brazilian Nut
With her
blind gut
((Coconut Houdini))
Island of Bali
Beauty of Judy
Somewhere so over it
rainbow
King Kong
Hairy chest banging
coconut drink slurping
Of girl talk
Strong New Jersey
Stamina
***** of Venezuela
Overload of
Prima, Donna's
Instant Karma
going to get them
Knocked them off
there feet
Where is my
John Lennon
He has the best beat
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 6:58 AM UTC
little tommy turtle booked a holiday
to the barrier reef so very far away
he packed up his snorkel and his little mask
took his little suitcase and a little flask.
tommy started diving jumped in to the reef
putting on his snorkel and swimming underneath
he saw lots of fish swimming round his face
floating there so happy as if they were in space.
then he saw some ***** as big as big can be
with lots of lovely colors swimming wild and free
then he saw a swordfish with a great big nose
lots and lots of starfish swimming round his toes.
tommy he just his little holiday
swimming in the reef so vey far away
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 8:44 AM UTC
“Sugarlump!
You make my heart thump,”
My grandmother said
As she patted my young head.
She’d give me a thump
Not hard enough to leave a bump.
It was her term of affection
To call me sugar lump.
Sugarllump.
An old-time phrase I grew up with,
I’ve used it through the years.
It means you tickle me.
It also means you are dear.
True the guys get a bit out of shape
When I say sugarlump to them,
But then I’m not their grandmother.
I am, after all, vey much ‘a him’.
“Sugarlump!
You make my heart thump,”
My grandmother said
As she patted my young head.
She’d give me a thump
Not hard enough to leave a bump.
It was her term of affection
To call me sugar lump.
But I find some people as sweet
And as delightful as homemade candy.
They are what triggers me to say
“Sugarlump, you are just dandy.”
So I use the phrase judiciously
For the fellows I happen to know
But for women a heckuva lot.
Every few comments or so.
“Sugarlump!
You make my heart thump,”
My grandmother said
As she patted my young head.
She’d give me a thump
Not hard enough to leave a bump.
It was her term of affection
To call me sugar lump.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 8:13 PM UTC
global warming changing moving very fast
changing all the world how long will we last
icebergs they are melting in the climate change
weathers not the same acting vey strange
theres nothing we can do it is far too late
global warming changing mother natures fate
lands are getting barren undeneath the sun
something we cant change what is done is done
we will have to wait just sit back and see
what warming will decide for our destiny
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 10:37 AM UTC
Tell me will you poet?
tell me sweetly in my ear,
tell me of your darkest sin,
and of your hidden fear,
then I will tell it back to you ,
and jot it right down here,
so tell me if you go with it ,
just what you wish to hear?
( I'm listening )
I can tell you that you're perfect,
that you're nice as nice can be,
an I'll tell you that I am your friend,
that you have a friend in me,
( ugh...not so much )
I'll tell you-
you're the handsomest,
as handsome as a star,
the dreamy one from childhood,
who lives somewhere a far,
( I wish... )
I'll tell you that you're wonderful,
that you're honest -
and you're sweet,
an I'll be at your beckon call,
just waiting at your feet,
I will be the sweetest girl,
that you will ever meet,
( Oh boy )
I'll curve the pretty world you view,
an distort it if I must,
tell me will you poet,
are my words the ones you trust?
I can tell a sad goodbye,
or sheets we tangle up in lust,
( ....uh..notta chance, but-)
I can tell of heated passion,
of heated lovers in the night,
while some have heated ***********
some others have a fight,
either way with all that heat,
there's hope they both ignite,
an when you cut your own hand off,
it's only YOU-
you spite,
( OK don't get pissy )
So I can kiss you with my paper,
I can caress you with my pen,
I can leave you feeling anxious love,
or I can leave you feeling zen,
I can be beside you there,
just name it where and when,
( hope not tho )
I can mention that you're genius,
just the smartest guy I know,
except for when it comes to love,
and then it's all for show,
or I can just omit that part,
so no one ever know,
( I'm sure you'd prefer that )
I can tell you any fake thing,
so sweetly in your ear,
it may not be the truth though,
and there in lies the fear,
if I tell you only truth then,
when I'm drawn in really near,
then tell me will you poet,
what should I say my dear?
( oy vey )
Because some objectified objects,
well they have opinions too,
and flattery gets you no where see,
even if these facts I say are true,
it's only in a certain light,
when you tip it all askew,
so that everyone can finally see,
The real "beauty" there in you,
as it all comes out,
now so clearly into view,
And I wonder why would I-
ever waste a single precious breath?!
Ma Cherie © 2017
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 7:35 AM UTC
there was a little rabbit he lived underground
everything so quiet he coudnt hear a sound
underneath the soil buried oh so deep
that is where he goes when he needs to sleep
oneday when he was playing outside his rabbit hole
he came across his friend a lovely little mole
mole began to cry he was very sad
his tunnel was filled in by all the rain they had
dont worry said the rabbit you can stay with me
you can come to my house it is water free
rabbit made a bed for the mole to sleep
way down in his hole so vey very deep
now they live together and are the best of friends
happy ever after thats how the story ends
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 11:02 AM UTC
oy vey
everyday, oy vey
Granny couldn't get through
an hour without a dour
oy vey
the woeful phrase I recall,
though most of all, I still see her
scrubbed raw, red paws, always
clutching a tissue, to keep
the ghastly germs at bay
the ones she believed
yet survived the camps
no matter how much time
and scalding baptismal
water had flowed
though far from the filth
even farther from the ovens, safe
she still said oy vey and held the tissue tight
perhaps to keep out the night
I never had to see
oy vey, oy vey
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 12:23 PM UTC
there was a little mouse an athelete was he
and some day a star he just long to be
he just love gymnastics trampoline and floor
doing lots of flips through the air would soar
he trained very hard each and everyday
olympics they were looming not vey far away
now the mouse was ready for his challenge to begin
mouse he took the floor hoping he could win.
the music started playing he began to dance
twisting turns and somersaults then a little prance
the judges marked the scores and he got the best
highest of them all he had beat the rest
then on the trampoline doing tricks galore
people they all loved him and shouted out for more
mouse had done his best his routine it was done
they marked his score again the little mouse had won
now he was a star like he longed to be
there in all the history books for everyone to see.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
once upon a time there lived four queens
one she had a ***** she just love to dig
the other she liked diamonds and love to wear a wig
one she had her clubs to fight her foe away
then the queen of hearts who could melt your heart away
they lived in a castle each one had a throne
they lived in seperate rooms each one lived alone
oneday they got together all adventure bound
looking for some treasure that was never found
they sailed off to an island where the treasure just might be
to a desert a island far across the sea
then they found a cross marked out on the floor
could this be treasure they were looking for
the queen of spades was digging with her trusty *****
until it got really deep and a great big hole was made
there they found a treaure chest with a great big lock
the queen of clubs she opened it with a great big knock
then lid flew open and the queen of diamonds saw
lots of little diamonds hundreds maybe more
the queen of hearts was happy with her heart so glad
and vey very pleased with the adventure they all had
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
"Thats so cliche"
Well then - touché
Oy vey
Lordy may
Am i the only that feels this dismay?
CHRIST, i could use a good lay
Thank the LORD i am built out of steel
Not paper-mache
What time is it?
**** it, it's still today
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 3:57 PM UTC
I
Having decided to return home after seeing my friends
Victorious in battle
I launched Lucifer away from the gate.
The weather permitted my swift travel
And I was off!
Galloping across the tarmac.
II
The opening naughts were easy
I glided along like a swift, if unruly dragon
I knew something would be wrong: the weather was still nice
And, if you know Éire you know you're in trouble
I met fellow travelers who seemed to agree with me.
They brought their dogs in: wise move.
My muscles began to tire; but then again
They were always weak (pathetic ********
Hills grew steep and Lucifer rebelled *******
I found myself swallowed by mud; drowning, drowning in muck.
The journey goes on.
Continuing on my voyage, I saw several other travelers.
(They owned neither dogs nor Lucifer)
We detoured, talked and I gave my muscles rest
An labhríonn tú Gaeilge I asked.
They affirmed; I procrastinated.
The journey still went on.
I finished that stretch within a short space of time
I was tired and Lucifer was grumbling.
Went through the gate
Unto the estate!
III
The opening hills were grueling
Long unending, unforgiving mounds
My hands ached.
I reached the top of the hill,
Rocketing down the gravel,
The wheels compounding the stones
I was doing it! I was doing it!
I got stuck in the grass.
Oi Vey
I eventually got myself free
And there were only a few more hills
To wage war with.
II turned the corner after the last
And saw the ramp.
In my head, a variant of Chariots of Fire thundered in my brain.
(Greek composers are the best to give one inspiration)
I reached the ramp
Turned the key
And was home!
VICTORY!
VICTORY!
VICTORY!
P.S. The journey took me 10minutes.
CP's a *****
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 3:16 PM UTC
all bite at first,
but some do not lose the taste for it,
and they become the haters,
needy to be put down,
or at vey least,
restrained and retrained
but I doubt most can
I am not a hater, just a doubter
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 5:22 AM UTC
there was a little rabbit he lived underground
everything so quiet he coudnt hear a sound
underneath the soil buried oh so deep
that is where he goes when he needs to sleep.
oneday he was playing outside his rabbit hole
he came across his friend a lovely little mole
mole began to cry he was very sad
his tunnel was filled in by all the rain they had.
dont worry said the rabbit you can stay with me
you can come to my house it is water free
rabbit made a bed for the mole to sleep
way down in his hole so vey very deep.
now they live together and are the best of friends
happy ever after thats how the story ends.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
a book listener,
earbud'd, her literary tastes
sensately incessant,
to head-hear me speak,
iPad down, iPhone paused,
a 10~30 second ritual
while I grrrrin and bear it
a precious jeweled day,
sun providing a great moderation,
76 degrees Fahrenheit,
a steady breeze, 10~15 mph,
a human cooler
she blanket cosseted,
me relieved,
just a memory now,
a sworn oath to do a three mile morning
hike in the nature reserve
overcome with gratitude for that,
and a perfection blessing of a day,
in normal voice, I let the guard take a weekend day off,
pronouncing I love you vey much
at this very moment of poetry inscribing...
so she stops, unbuds, buttons pushed,
and says what dud, duh,
what was it that you said?
nothing unimportant, says me
(why spoil her twice, thinking)
No I insist!
so I repeat my grace laudatory
and she says, I
just wanted to hear it
twice....
and i wonder what else she hears
when I am being disregarded....
I guess this,
a love poem
of sorts,
though confused,
cause I been used,
well and proper
and quite like it,
I think....a little devilry
a spice to a relationship repast,
don't you worry,
I'll get her back
but where, when, how...
Mmmmmm....
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 3:25 PM UTC
when no moon is the reason and it's that.
you may be the first one on the moon of your own real mccoy.
and oi vey ! you're about to have cancer but you're too busy dying from boredom !
you have straight teeth that crooked smiles get the *******
and the wisp of your future lays dormant
in the huge bend of your sinister
where the crimp is binding the pinch
and the hole is dropping
the gallstone
into the pudding
with your
beast.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 11:31 PM UTC
First know this:
In my peoples’ history,
an old evil, revived,
a real pretend
a”new” enemy, but
merely a derivative of a-prior,
old name, same hatred,
irrational and raw,
rising up in every generation,
under cover of a ‘philosophy,’
lies buried a purity of motive,
purity of hate for hate’s sake
<•>
For my people
and their beliefs
Our secret to our
survival is manifest,
you may have heard it called,
A Secret Chord (1)
Tears and Laughter,
Tears Behind Laughter
intertwined, or else,
we would not indeed be
the long going on tribe
studied by curious
historians & idiots
me?
still crazy, after all these generations
Grandparents & Parents
chased by ‘professionals’
from places well known to you
(hey! we somehow got away
with huge luck, and courageous daring)
Not requiring your sympathy
not asking for a special empathy,
not rejecting your clucks,
but we manage
though tears aplenty
that we mask under a guise
via self-deprecating humor
I would love to tell
the Bible and the liturgy
is full of sly winks,
cutish double entendres,
bartender jokes,
but it ain’t necessarily so
don’t ya know
if the bible had made
gentle laughter at/of/
angelic & human foibles
and maybe
even God laughing at
all too human characteristics
but that’s a very big ask,
not sure He’s up to the task,
making fun of yourself
when you’re the
top of the chain
requires
humanility
which’s not a master’s
first calling
but should have been its
first blessing
*so that’s up to us,
we irreverent creatures
of his design,
and why we are the absolute tgw only
species that cries
to express
sadness-
and mockery maker
of ourselves
the oy in
oh vey beings
Still crazy after all these years
Dec 23, 2024
Dec 23, 2024 at 9:35 AM UTC
RECORD: FLAGPOLE frITTA
FROGMAN: cHAR-VEY rANGER
"You Thrill my Mind"
-- SELF, Frogman
but it was all wrighte,
everything was all wrighte,
the truggle was finished.
she had won the big-tore-he over his-selfse.
sHe loved all-Free-Ways.
-- George Orwell, Frogman
STOP: TURN SELF
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 8:49 PM UTC
I said, oh
you're in sales.
She responded:
Are you kidding!
I could sell ice to an Eskimo.
Oy vey I say,
you're pretty pretty
and that's a fact.
That will go a long way
towards your hitting the mark.
I hope you are able to stay honest,
give a sucker an even break.
Please feel welcome
and make yourself a tidy sum.
I myself was not cut out for sales,
my pitch wasn't good and all,
but I couldn't hide the products drawbacks.
I was all to willing to let you know
exactly what you were paying for.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
(actually, now at present time juiced
well nigh high noon same day)
On this January nineteenth
tooth thousand and nineteen
dogged by an earlier notion
searching soul to glean,
(while at Collegeville Diner)
above place previously wrought
poem hammered from this peon
expounded possibly seen,
asper belated birthday
outing now I mean
to expound upon nagging , yet keen
existential question, sans what purpose
validates yours truly within skien
of terrestrial webbed wide world,
no...no...no not
simply pocketing green
backs (banknotes, legal,
tender, money, et cetera), but now bean
older, and displeasing lee not so lean
when just a slip (pre) youth decades ago
yea, that would be
when I hapt tubby a teen
with nary a concern,
nope not even to preen
myself much to the dismay
of my late mother, nay
no idea why lackadaisical, illogical,
and antithetical bee hay
vee yore prevailed, but more to the point
rarely when young and naive did stray
thoughts besiege my mind,
that LX vintage sketchy,
shady, and seedy gray
area bothered concerning,
hounding, pestering and fill lay
mignon noggin ready toboggan
any price you say
for this staged coached blarney
finding this mortal questioning... ray
zing meaning, purpose,
and underlying importance, gestalt, design...
of life more so today
meaning since recent past
also taking stock of
accomplishments from way
back, and feeling stymied okay
at a loss to delineate
any rhyme or reason
to shout hip...hip hooray
quite the contrary, which following
admission might appear cray zee,
but aye decry barely
living capped off with oy vey!
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 11:55 AM UTC
King Ahasuerus desires a mate
'One chooses Esther one thinks she's first rate.'
Later he's soppy and showers her with kisses
Then honours his promise and makes her his missis.
Haman gets an earful ; the King's in a strop.
'You're history you hear us. You're for the big chop.'
'Oi, Haman, I'll miss you
Just Like a used tissue!'
Mordecai's very cheerful
Though once he was fearful
'Oy vey, I'm relieved
The Jews are reprieved'
Jeer and boo with a passion
Nibble hamantashen
(Poppyseeds are the filler)
That's the gansa megillah
Miriam Troth 2016
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 7:06 AM UTC
Alias indomitable invincible
Donald John Trump oozes wrath
inexorably plunging every species
of life toward apocalyptic warpath
mercilessly threatentens world
wide web promising bloodbath
validating ex post facto commander
in chief as nonpareil sociopath
hence... this call to arms gives run
for money challenging any psychopath
lest inevitable according to dead
reckoning prediction of
wisest sages calculated math.
Thus one poetic footsoldier doth broadcast
dire straits emergency, and inveigh
grassroots action mandatory meaning
registered voters must
cast ballot per se
else planet Earth will...
burn thermonuclear gray
rendering oblate spheroid
uninhabitable, I daresay
if bleak forecast father time doth delay
global warming would outweigh
former worst case nihilistic scenario,
nonetheless Gaia will serve
as repurposed ashtray,
whereby inextinguishable fiery storms
approximating calculus of doomsday
nsync with intolerable weather forecasts
if complacency rides roughshod field day
defying lack of immunization oy vey
against opportunistic unfamiliar organisms
viral and bacterial agent provocateurs
microscopic gangbusters
nothing could allay
winning scrimmage play
thinning overpopulation whereby
scavengers make short shrift
plethora once living flotsam and jetsam
perhaps requiring rotting, putrefying,
goods put on layaway
(type of foragers -
reference https://www.google.com/search?
client=safari&channel=mac_bm&ei=
KECaXe_UA6SO5wLh-7gY&q=list+
examples+of+scavengers&oq=list+types+
of+scavengers&gs_l=psy-ab.1.0.0i22i30.
58737.70074..70997...0.4..0.223.1875.
21j2j1......0....1..gws-wiz.......
0i71j0i273j0j0i131j0i67j33i22i29i30.
wnDI0kLrKWM).
now ye might hashtag me chicken little
synonymous to Rome burning,
while Nero did fiddle,
perhaps scaremonger i.e. Cassandra
alamist bah bing away, a realist foaming
at figurative mouth with spittle,
would you believe cautious optimist,
who presents prediction,
while this poem heed whittle.
Oct 6, 2019
Oct 6, 2019 at 5:18 PM UTC
the one thing that I've wanted
eludes me to this day
I drive around just looking
with nothing much to say
the ones that have it, earned it
while the others, we just pray
for the one thing that we wanted
but eludes us to this day~
Aye, the one thing that we wanted, but eludes us to this day!
well you take the road to riches
and ****** well you may
find the path that intersects it
when your greed gets in the way
and blindly turn aside
when all the beggars plead, "Oi Vey'!
you've got the one thing that they've wanted
but eludes them to this day~
Aye,the one thing that they've wanted but eludes them to this day!
while I wait around just hoping
that my wages serve me well
and try to keep the heat down
while the gas bill goes to hell
not the thing I really needed
but the one that keeps me warm
it's my thermal underwear~
and all that's clinging to my form~
Aye, her thermal underwear is all that's clingin' to her form!
I pull myself together
in the early morning light
and layer on and layer up
'cause this has been my plight
the news guy says it's snowing and
Long Island's in a freeze, Geez
the last thing that I needed
and it's right up to my knees~
Aye, the LAST thing that she needed and it's right up to her knees!
So I'll boil a *** of water
and I'll fill me up a tub
and I'll soak my father's daughter
till there's nothin' left to scrub
and when I'm toasty warm and ready
then I'll climb back in the bed
close my eyes and dream of summer
and the one thing in my head~
Close her eyes and dream of summer and the one thing in her head!
It's the one thing that I've wanted, but forever left unsaid.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 11:19 AM UTC