COSTUME COSTUME

Costume, Costume,
Dressed up as a Mason,
Bloody Costume,
Dressed as Jason.

Looks like a schnook or an elevated crook, 
Or a monk, sunk heavily by the lure of shooting junk.

You Punk, won't you bank with Miniver Cheevy, 
You stunk from the smell of your sweaty arse 
I've Never been to Santa Fe but...

Your dance of Delilah, makes me smile,
I'll rub my moustache in your bile.
Your corporate nipples rolled in plastic, 
I know you want size but don't get drastic.

Sitting there picking your scabs in the cabs, 
Of your posthumous crabs that you got from Babs.
Knowing that it won't work when you jerk off 
In your toupe then try and have a nice day!

Malleable ringdings scarfed in a flash
She calls the police on your Birthday Bash.
Rolled up in a rug, you can't hug Professor Doug, 
Or you'll wind up in Nova Scotia.

You lose hair on your head and then you find it in your nose, 
Then you realize it's just her lotion.

{POETRY}