LET'S PUT OSAMA'S MAMA ON A LLAMA

Resurrect my saddened muse,
With news of jews who sit on pews,
Begging for the growth of my Adam's Apple, 
Only if Marcia fits perfectly into the slope of my lap.

Do you fight your urge to purge and your need to breed?
With battalions of vices or sugars and spices?
Sit on your barbed wire fences in the mockery of indecision, 
If you maintain this lifestyle, you won't reach thirty.

If you maintain this lifestyle you won't reach thirty?
Shit what the fuck happened.
Vertical virginity mapped out in unconscious wrath, 
Garlic stains your breath and breathes your brain.

Let's put Osama's Mama on a Llama,
And hold her till the day we die,
Til her and her llama both break down and cry, 
Til the fear in her Llama subsides.

Tasteless virtue gains ground upon your Lizzie Wallbanger, 
Bang her knuckles on cement walls,
Or rubber balls and liquor.

So soon you forget what happened to Chandra, 
A telephone call from Istanbul causes concern nowadays.
It's been awhile, since I have heard such a horrid song, 
Four Non Blondes might pressure solipsism less.

Even in times of danger, your vanity mirror looks stranger, 
A ceaseless march of warts across your mangy face.
Bestill my beating heart:
Panties that make your panting tongue turn Pantone 292.
 

{POETRY}