Mr. B is out of town
and I can't find anyone to have an affair with
so I just mosey on down
to the metropolitan museum of art
to look at all the saders(sp?) with hard-ons
they're over there next to the mid-evil armor
their bronze muscles flexing
and their goat fur loincloths
vibrating that
little bitty rictor scale looking thingy box
that sits in the corner of the controlled environment
behind the
cold
hard
glassssss
I sit on an imitation neo-classical chair and
wait and wait and wait
I look into a gilded full length mirror and see my
greasy
stringy hair
and I think
oh
Hef won't like me like this
then I check out that chick Lita
with the swan peckin' at her peak (what sounds like "egg tempry")nipples
and I say,
"hey!
what that swan be doin' huh?"
"uh huh uh huh"
"and why?"
"oo"
"why?"
and how 'bout those plump maidens?
those hot cherubic babes
being presented to Apollo, Dionysus, Neptune
or one of those other well hung Gods huh?
what about them stripped
bear
a**
naked
like the day they was born
with their hands bound by Gollum's whip
duly budding blossums
ripe and tender to touch
just like the
l******s in that
16th century tapestry
the one over the
harpsichord
lookin' just like California Blondes
mmmmmmmmmmmmm
just then
three zephyr jets descend from the sky
on an old fashoned deus ex machina
singin', "I ain't wearin' any underwear
I ain't wearin' any underwear
I ain't wearin' any underwear
I ain't wearin' any underwear
I ain't wearin' any underwear
I ain't wearin' any underwear
I ain't wearin' any underwear
I ain't wearin' any underwear(the last "underwear" is broken down in a quite soulful manner)
oh plumes of molten rock
rising from Venus' mantle
solidify on the crust as plateaus
that God looks cute he has a look of
studied melancholy and distraction
that reminds me of my own (sounds like "preat" but I'm not sure what that means) boyfriend
the Al Pacino look-a-like
I called my soul gigolo
who broke my heart in a hundred places
and caused my nervous breakdown that resulted in
the most unsuccessful suicide attempt
involving 42 Phenobarbital
where I slept for two days and woke up
and luckily lived long enough to reach my s**ual peak
I wonder what ever happened to him?
and I can't find anyone to have an affair with
so I just mosey on down
to the metropolitan museum of art
to look at all the saders(sp?) with hard-ons
they're over there next to the mid-evil armor
their bronze muscles flexing
and their goat fur loincloths
vibrating that
little bitty rictor scale looking thingy box
that sits in the corner of the controlled environment
behind the
cold
hard
glassssss
I sit on an imitation neo-classical chair and
wait and wait and wait
I look into a gilded full length mirror and see my
greasy
stringy hair
and I think
oh
Hef won't like me like this
then I check out that chick Lita
with the swan peckin' at her peak (what sounds like "egg tempry")nipples
and I say,
"hey!
what that swan be doin' huh?"
"uh huh uh huh"
"and why?"
"oo"
"why?"
and how 'bout those plump maidens?
those hot cherubic babes
being presented to Apollo, Dionysus, Neptune
or one of those other well hung Gods huh?
what about them stripped
bear
a**
naked
like the day they was born
with their hands bound by Gollum's whip
duly budding blossums
ripe and tender to touch
just like the
l******s in that
16th century tapestry
the one over the
harpsichord
lookin' just like California Blondes
mmmmmmmmmmmmm
just then
three zephyr jets descend from the sky
on an old fashoned deus ex machina
singin', "I ain't wearin' any underwear
I ain't wearin' any underwear
I ain't wearin' any underwear
I ain't wearin' any underwear
I ain't wearin' any underwear
I ain't wearin' any underwear
I ain't wearin' any underwear
I ain't wearin' any underwear(the last "underwear" is broken down in a quite soulful manner)
oh plumes of molten rock
rising from Venus' mantle
solidify on the crust as plateaus
that God looks cute he has a look of
studied melancholy and distraction
that reminds me of my own (sounds like "preat" but I'm not sure what that means) boyfriend
the Al Pacino look-a-like
I called my soul gigolo
who broke my heart in a hundred places
and caused my nervous breakdown that resulted in
the most unsuccessful suicide attempt
involving 42 Phenobarbital
where I slept for two days and woke up
and luckily lived long enough to reach my s**ual peak
I wonder what ever happened to him?