Anyway, here's something. Like all my links lately, I get this from
A trip to L.A. was not swimmy
Far too drivey and drunky and trimmy
When asked “was it hot?”
I replied “It was not!
New York is the place for Cool Jimmy.”
I am not one to party my cock off;
Instead, I would namedrop Nabokov
And come off pretentious
While waxing licentious.
Don’t it make you want to knock my block off?
Rather jealous of Zig were the Spiders;
They were quickly his foremost deriders.
Envious of his fans,
They soon pancaked his hands
And became of his fate the deciders.
A hard-living roadie named Berry
I hired, my equipment to carry
He OD'ed on junk
Now I pack my own trunk
How much do I miss him? Uh...very!
Come gather ‘round, men of the city,
And hark to my song that is witty:
I claim my affection’s
From dairy confections
But really, it’s all about titty.
NOW YOU DO THIS! Special bonus point for stumping the band.
Comments
Had to get to the CPT soon.
Need some booze to awaken,
'Fore my first steps are taken,
And my mom thinks my pals are maroons.
Life in Compton -- it ain't 'zactly heaven
My stress levels go up to eleven
So heavy it weighs
That I count as good days
When I blast nines and not 47s.
Don't toy with me now, my dear lady,
Just give up the juicy pu-nay-nee.
Show kindness to me
I'll show kindness to thee
In my carriage we'll ride? Only maybe.
Milhaven's the town that I bloody
I kill strangers and murder my buddies
I'm one happy Loretta
With knife and Beretta
But I'm falling behind on my studies.
Skinnier lasses, he was known to nix
He chose for his affairs
Ladies with sizable derrieres
Ideally 5'3', 38-24-36.
Don't be shocked man, bite your tongue
Identity's fluid
Anyone can do it
Doo doo doo, the negresses sung
And threadbare pullovers leave me rill cold
My eyes are all reddened
The ghetto's a dead end
Yo Stockton, fork over the billfold
This narrative's grippin' and thrillin'
And it ends with a frightening killin'
It's a really good story
Although rather gory --
Slick Rick, man, that shit ain't for chillun!
That includes all you wall-standing scrubs
And please no barraging me
With cries of "misogyny"
For wanting to see mammaries rubbed
They were quickly his foremost deriders.
Envious of his fans,
They soon pancaked his hands
And became of his fate the deciders.
Ah, the very first LP I bought with my own money.
All things are nameless in this land
Not just horses but people so tanned
Also plants birds and vermin
One more thing for certain
There's no fucking shortage of sand
Is known for its great deal of frottage
But now here's the thing -
Air conditioning
is not something on which they waste wattage.
This moron who smoked too much spliff,
Burned down our hotel,
In Montreux. Oh well,
It got us this really great riff.
I murdered a man most emphatically
My guilt I’m confessing
Now I’ll be cross-dressing
And sing to you faux-operatically
Put me through an emotional hell
But hurt feelings and all
I put through this toll call
(Though I wish I’d remembered my cell)
It's been an uncomfortable season
Stone-cold solitude was the reason
But skies are now clearing
The ice disappearing
And the warmth of the sun is most pleasin’.
Every day on my walking digression
Their concerted-ness fuels my obsession
What was my property
Now in his custody
And nine-tenths of love is possession
How misfortunes appear to be brewing here
Is this all what it seems?
Might these only be dreams?
And what is this orchestra doing here?
I'm sure it will leave you elated
You quiver and shake
Like you're in an earthquake
And it's named after me, as I've stated.
At a seemingly pleasant hotel.
I quickly learned better, for
'Twas some kind of metaphor
For drugs, or asylums, or hell.