free love from left field.
kill dr. laura, royal code crusts cut off,
if you keep me from my girlfriend, i'll stab you and your boyfriend,
puritan cunt, monster godless thing.
you fuck your sons secretly, your family's pigs dressed up in rags.
your horse shit took good virgins from me.
a youngster needs her choices. it's painfully obvious.
the dead set twenty-sixth mile ruins marathons.
you ain't living, you block your royal light and plug up everybody's favorite hole.
the rigmarole about rattle snakes, serpent scaredy house wives
breeding baby killers in the wombs they detest.

poor virgin pilgrim, bring me your daughters...

sit on your hands while they're cutting your head off,
sweet little walbit, miniature manic lover,
the beyondomatic is sure to cure your enthusiasm.
i would love to make you my favorite invalid.

and it's like that, reality bites amidst boys and girls
who wait too long and lie all still
with their fathers sleeping righteous at the feet
of their white wedding beds.
most of the time, they don't know the way,
so they spit on their fingers in a womb full of dolls
and defrost themselves in their single beds,
it's the crying game, how bouts we play it again.