There will be the twenty-once,
Then I grow up: thirty-three
Maybe more, Christ... Maybe worst: me!
Mag Wurst, Oli?
Bite your tureky leg, Froggy,
Sure it'll grow back
In your baggy.
In your baggy there's your hand,
In your doggy are your fingies
Scratching, itching with the inches till it gets so hot!
Inflates, dilates, lick a leak, a shitty-lake, acidly burning your panties
Gets you naked
Climax? Climax? speaking about climax,
What about climb climb climbing grimed hanged up by your clit or your cocknose?
Instead of non-stoppily feeding your basic murdering instincts of meat-eating?
What do you think, old tank?
Should I fill up your whole buttanks,
With greasy-grease and gas-oil and the coils around your penis?
"Mama's baking eggs wiv no bacon", that's the nu sticky motto I'm singing while your nu heil-phone is ringing.
"Mam's baking eggs wiv no bacon", that's my nu shitty-art coming whil sticky-you gets me ass rimdoggued!