I can't flip, from this awful trip,
My legs are tired and stiff.
If you tell health by smell,
The rot's ready for a sniff.
A heavy foot for example, could easily trample,
Splatter my silly guts for everyone to see.
Either I'm hopelessly behind the times,
Or the times are hopelessly behind me.
My shit's tight, the days full of fright
The turds are somewhere caught.
My farts are rare, or just plain air,
I miss the stench quite a lot.
Once danger my dick, now thin as a wick,
The females are fucking around.
The gods have gas, I see their classic ass,
My eyes can't turn to the ground.
When like this, you get sprayed with piss,
You're really treated like stale shit.
Now negative in the pecking order,
Your flaws focused in the light that's lit.
Or imagine a ball of vomit
Hurled by impetuous hate.
The bolus assisted by gravity,
Surely will suffocate my fate.
Or the spitter spatter of spit,
All at my face they're aimed.
Imagine the degree of disrespect,
For a rotation that was framed.
I wonder about all the assholes
My wet tongue could have licked.
Or the phalluses for which
My own I should have lubricated slick.
What castles will I be crawling then,
Or would they be all made of card?
Ambition can often be a stale delusion,
That like feces has gotten really hard.
I die like shit, this is really it,
Getting up is an impossible goal.
Staring like a fool, all I do is drool,
Just another defeated asshole.
