I pretend I'm a king but haven't got a thing
Naked like the day I was born.
The world is shit I know it,
Feces everywhere and so on.
Never trust a friend, it'll be your end,
They say they come in peace.
They shit in your mouth, stab your back,
Cut you in a million piece.
But I'm really a stoic, very heroic,
I have plans to sit on my ass.
I won't take a bath, let my pubes grow,
And curse the ruling class.
Plus I can see, and it's not just me,
That smoking weed is an in thing.
Drinking piss in a martini glass,
A lime makes the piss sing.
I make do with what I have,
Often just bodily waste.
I store my shit in large bell jars,
With piss I prepare a paste.
I'm sorry I'm mad, but don't be sad,
There's nothing I could really do.
Destiny my friend, is my nuanced end,
Or a cage in a third world zoo.
Plus the doomer dicks say it's all sick,
And we're all going to die.
Just a matter of years they say,
No need to buy a new tie.
So here I stand, on a land not bland,
In the holy nataraja pose.
This would have pissed the holy cow,
Had I said it in sanskrit prose.
I don't care, I let people scare,
They have an itchy asshole to scratch.
The mind of mine, will rhyme still fine,
I need a publisher for my egg to hatch.
